AfterLife
by Tobi Tortue
Summary: To stop Kira, L must sacrifice himself. But what is waiting for him after his victory? And what is waiting for the Death God Lyr? Could it be... apples? Twin story to anjachan's AfterLife. HIATUS
1. Prologue

**AfterLife**

**Prologue**

----L----

November 3rd, 2007

The door slid open quickly with a hiss, and L stepped inside the dark room, his bare feet slapping lightly on the linoleum. An eerie, bluish glow emanated from the many computer screens along the far end of the wall. Wammy looked back, turning in his chair.

"What's the matter, Ryuuzaki?" Wammy nodded slightly, brow crinkling, as he took in what seemed to be L's normal appearance. The same dark circles under his dark eyes, same loose white shirt, same awkward posture. Of course, L knew that Wammy would be able to tell that something was wrong. The old man spun his chair all the way around to face him. The edges of the room were shrouded in darkness. "What is it?"

For a long time, the only sound was the faint hum of the computers and their whirring, internal fans. Finally, after the white noise had become oppressive, L took a breath.

"Watari," he said, his eyes locking onto the man and his aged face. "I have decided to use the notebook." He paused, waiting for some kind of response from his caretaker. Wammy settled back into his chair, his frown deepening, but said nothing. "I know that Light is Kira. I am certain that he will try to kill me soon." L raised his thumb to his mouth, looking pensive. "No, what I mean is that I believe he will succeed in killing me soon. He has been _trying_ to kill me for quite some time now." L let his gaze drift elsewhere, towards the security cameras that were shifting constantly, keeping Wammy informed of the going-ons in every centimeter of the building. "I have been studying the rules in the murderer's notebook and speaking to the death god…and I have learned some things that I believe can be used to my advantage.

"If a name is written in a Death Note, or multiple Death Notes, then the first one written will take effect, regardless of when the actual death occurs. Also, the death can occur at most 23 days after it was written down. Finally, a human can write his or her own name in the Death Note. What this means, Watari, is that if Kira is going to kill me in the next few days as I believe he will, as long as I write my name down before he does, I can prolong my life until those 23 days are over."

The old man stood in shock. "But, Ryuuzaki, surely you cannot think that—"

"Yes, Watari, I can think that this is a viable option, and one that has a 62 percent chance of succeeding. But I will need your assistance in order to convince Light that I am dead." L's black eyes stared into Wammy's, the youth's face still emotionless. L pressed his thumb against his lower lip. "If Light believes that I am dead, it is likely that he will become careless. It is then that we will prove that he is Kira."

"This means that you only have 23 days at the most to watch Light for some kind of carelessness," Wammy said solemnly, shaking his head.

"Yes," L's voice broke in quickly, emphatically agreeing with the older man. He could not keep the tinge of excitement from his voice. "I will also have to guess when Light will kill me, and in what fashion I would die." Wammy's eyes opened wider than L had thought possible as he lowered himself carefully back into his chair. L's thumb entered his mouth and he pushed on his front teeth, thinking of the coming challenge, removing his thumb only a few centimeters to speak again. "I am almost certain that he will use a heart attack. Anything less…well, it would not be that hard to simply poison me or push me down the stairs. No, for Light's pride, he must kill me by using the Death Note."

Wammy shook his head and took off his glasses. He used his free hand to massage the spot where they had lain across his nose. "L, how will you know _when_ Kira will kill you?" He returned his glasses to their usual spot on his wizened face.

L chewed on his thumb as he pondered Wammy's question. Truthfully, he did not know why he was still alive at this moment. He had concluded that for some unknowable reason, the death gods preferred Light Yagami over all other humans, and therefore had no qualms about doing Kira's work themselves. He also knew that the death gods had eyes that could see the names of every human, granted that they saw the human's face. He also knew that there was a death god in the very building, one that was probably lying to them in order to help Light.

For all of Rem's nonchalant denials of the claim, L knew that there was some kind of hidden communication between the god of death and the young son of the ex-chief. The pieces to the puzzle of the Kira case all fit together if only the thirteen day rule was false. But the monstrous, white death god had assured them of its truth. So either Light was not Kira, or the death god was lying. However, L believed, with only a shadow of doubt, that Light was Kira. So the death god was helping Light. The death god wanted victory for Kira.

Victory for Kira was death for L.

So why had the death god not killed him yet?

He looked outside of himself again, back to Wammy and the unanswered question still hanging in the tense, air-conditioned space between them.

"I do not know, Watari, and I can only hope that when the time comes, I will recognize it." L's eyes searched the darkness in the corners of the room. He could faintly hear the bells, chiming solemnly in the church near the orphanage. He smiled, barely, and yet sadly.

In its purest form, it was simply going to be a matter of whether the future held one funeral, or two.

----L----

November 5th, 2007

_Three funerals,_ he thought, his black eyes opening wide as he begged the screen to come back to life. "Watari!" he said quickly, his voice hardly raised but full of fear. The room glowed a sinister red, and L knew that it was now.

He was supposed to die now. Right now. Quickly. L felt the adrenaline hit his system, and wished it had not. The adrenaline would counteract the sedative Wammy had prepared, making it more difficult for L's heart and pulse to slow to a deathly pace. His tongue rolled the tiny capsule from its hiding spot near the back of his jaw, but he did not crush it yet. There was no Wammy to protect him in such a weakened state anymore.

All data deletion, read the computer monitors. A clear, high beep bled through the speakers incessantly. L could feel himself begin to panic, but pushed the feeling away, knowing that he needed a clear head.

"Deletion of data? What's happening?" asked Aizawa nervously.

L did not turn to look at him, but responded automatically. His mind was working on a different problem, as usual. "I instructed Watari to delete all of the data if something were to happen to him." He continued staring at the screen. He had not thought that the death god would go so far as to kill Wammy. But this also meant that L could be certain that the death god did not have knowledge that L had already sentenced himself to death. Why kill Wammy and alert L to the appropriate time to fake his death?

Aizawa's voice broke through the surface of his thoughts. "'If something were to happen to him?'" he echoed L's words in confusion and fear.

"Don't tell me…" Matsuda said in horror as the investigation team rushed to gather around L, perched in his chair in front of the wall of computer monitors. Light was behind him, on his right. L suppressed a shiver. Since when had he known where Light was without looking? He explained the feat to himself as a combination of an acute sense of hearing, wide peripheral vision, and a highly developed subconscious mind. He glanced round at all of the screens in front of him, allowing the aforementioned wide peripheral vision to take in Light.

Light's hands were clear of pen, pencil, paper, or anything else. They were in plain sight. Which meant that L had been correct to assume that the god of death would help him. But to kill Wammy….

Rather than show a look of hurt to Light, L instead looked to his left, to ex-chief Yagami. He would give Light a little hint, a guess that he knew exactly what was happening. "Where's the death god?" L asked quietly.

"Now that you mention it…" Souichiro began, looking towards the darkness behind them, "I can't see it."

The investigation team seemed to go crazy for a moment. There were gasps as everyone glanced around the room wildly, as if they expected the hulking mass of bony white to be hiding behind some piece of furniture or lurking unnoticed in the corner. L debated his next move.

"It's not here!" Mogi informed them, trying to maintain a level tone.

L had never been one to waste a chance, especially one such as this one, when it came at the price of a man's life. Especially a man such as Wammy.

"What does this mean?!" asked Yagami, as the rest of the team continued darting their eyes around, hoping the death god would reappear and tell them what was happening.

L would not let Quillsh Wammy die in vain. He would not let himself die in vain. He would never get a chance like this again.

_Now._ L crunched down on the capsule, quickly swallowing the liquid sedative that oozed out. "Everyone, the death go—" he attempted, feeling his mouth go numb. He dropped his spoon, and felt the world spin.

Fast-acting indeed, he thought as he heard the bells chime. The red haze of the room evaporated, leaving whiteness. He vaguely wondered what Wammy had put into the small pill, puzzled by a feeling he associated with falling.

"Ryuuzaki! What's wrong?!" Mastuda yelled, though his voice echoed strangely and seemed to come from far away.

L hit the floor, and images of his childhood ricocheted through his skull along with the sound of church bells. The great, stained-glass windows of cathedrals blurred together as he tried to maintain consciousness. Someone was crying, and being drowned out by the bells and their incessant ringing. He saw heavy gears turning, grinding along and creaking in protest. He was swathed in the scent of English wildflowers. L stared upwards, through the bare branches of a tree, towards a white winter sun….

The sunlight broke into darkness and it was Light above him, the red glow curling around the worried expression on his young face. L's thoughts slowed, and he felt the sluggishness of his own heart and lungs, the panic from before completely smothered by the drugs. He watched Light, and carefully noted the transformation of innocent boy to mass murderer. With a wicked grin and a narrowing of the eyes, Light became Kira.

_I won_, his killer's eyes taunted, gleaming demonically in the dim, crimson light.

L's eyes slid shut… and all was silent.

"Oi, Ryuuzaki…" Light began, his voice trembling. L felt a faint pressure on his shoulder, and assumed that Light was gripping him tightly. "What's the matter? Get a hold of yourself!" L knew his arm was flopping as Light shook him, although his senses were indeed dulled.

"What?! What happened?!" That voice belonged to Light's father. He sounded worried. L felt suddenly empty, and not like a human being. He waited for his heart to beat again, patiently, although it felt like he was sinking deeper under the water, simply waiting for a breath of air.

An anguished cry cut through L's peaceful drowning, kicking his mind back into gear. The heavy pieces of metal turned once again, creaking. Light was screaming. Souichiro Yagami was yelling for his son to calm down. The noise cascaded over L, overpowering even the echoing of the bells.

"We're going to be killed!" Light answered his father, shaking as he held onto L's body tightly. "Watari, Ryuuzaki…"

A sudden clarity possessed L, and he almost drew in a quick breath. Clearly the sedative was still in effect, but even with next to no oxygen, L managed to hold onto something: Light had fallen for his trick, and now believed him to be dead.

"… and next it's us!" continued Light, pretending to be stricken with fear.

The room echoed with Light's words. Either L's sense of hearing had finally quit on him, or the rest of the investigation team had gone silent, fearing an attack by the death god. L felt his consciousness recede again under a tide of silent ringing, and he struggled to make sense of what was going on around him. He heard faint footsteps and quiet gasps.

"Fuck!" Light yelled again, convincing them that from his fear had sprung anger. "Where's the death god! Show yourself!"

"L-Light…" ex-chief Yagami began as Light began to let go. L felt someone else replace Light's arms, keeping his limp body from entirely collapsing onto the floor. He realized then that Light must have caught him when he fell….

Light stood. "You must know something about this! Show yourself!" L heard footsteps echoing away, and had to force himself not to get lost in the echoing taps as Light walked away.

"We should look as well," Yagami suggested. A bell chimed, once.

Mastuda's reply seemed hesitant. "… Yeah." Instead of darkness, L saw a white light….

L heard footsteps and Yagami's voice again. He clung to the voice, wrapping his attention to it to keep himself from fading. "Mogi, we'll leave the rest to you."

"Okay," came Mogi's voice. L felt himself being passed off to the man like a doll, then what must have been Aizawa's retreating footsteps. He began counting them, one, two, three, four, five…six….

The room was silent for a long moment. The footsteps had stopped echoing, Light had stopped yelling, and even the bells had stopped pealing. Mogi's steady breathing and warm arms were comforting. He could probably go to sleep now, except….

L forced his dark eyes open, and drew as deep a breath as he could muster. Mogi stared in shock, his sudden and unconscious intake of breath deeper than L's.

"Not dead…" His voice came out in barely a whisper. L struggled to keep eye contact with the man, hoping in vain that perhaps some last vestige of adrenaline would burst into his system. Mogi's eyes opened wide. Suddenly, everything was in slow motion as the large man raised his head, widened his mouth into a smile, tilted his head to the side, opened his mouth to yell to his colleagues….

"No!" L hissed, the sharp exhalation causing him extreme dizziness. L suddenly felt more sick than weary. Mogi lifted his head up, keeping it from lolling limply towards the linoleum.

The red glow of the room faded… and with it, so was L's chance to defeat Kira. If he could just get Mogi to….

"Secret…" he whispered to Mogi, closing his eyes because he could no longer keep them open. His brain was pausing, and he knew there was something he was saying. "Light…." It was hard to focus on the words when he had no breath. "Kira…." What was the important message? "Don't tell…." Was there an important message? "Alive…."

What?

L faded.

----L----

November 16th, 2007

L walked out of the stairwell, followed by the investigation team. Mogi had done well, had kept him and his secret concerning his "death" safe. Only moments before, L had revealed to Yagami, Matsuda, and Aizawa the truth of the situation. Most of them still watched him as if he were a ghost.

Light Yagami stood by the edge of the building, facing the busy city and its glowing lights. There was a flash of thunder, which illuminated the youth's figure. One arm was raised high, holding a large pen as if he were conducting an orchestra of death. His hand lowered, he leaned forward….

L looked away, to the four men behind him, and brought a finger to his lips. Yagami was staring in shock, Matsuda in disbelief, and Aizawa in fear. Mogi was looking away.

The young detective turned back around, and walked slowly towards Light as he stood feverishly writing.

"Light."

Light stiffened, and ceased writing. L continued forward, wondering what was going through the murderer's mind. The young criminal leaned forward, putting pen back to paper. L spoke again, forcing Light to acknowledge his presence as more than a ghost.

"Light Yagami."

There was a pause, and then Light stood straight. His arms went to his sides, and he slowly turned around. The wind whipped through his auburn hair as his face became visible, the light from the city below giving his features a sinister luminosity. He wore an expression of slight, curious surprise, as if L had returned from the store five minutes earlier than expected, rather than from the grave.

He watched Light's eyes as they gazed, almost condescendingly, at him, at then moved to take in the members of the investigation team behind him. L watched as Light picked his plan, his excuse for killing from the rooftop of L's building.

"Ryuuzaki… is it really you?" Light's voice was thin, trembling. He acted as if he was too afraid for it to be true, which was probably not too far from the reality. Light was probably indeed heading into fear, as he struggled to comprehend how his nemesis had not only escaped the grave, but had led the team to catch him in the act.

"Yes," L answered. He gave Light a pointed look as he finished his response. "Kira." L wasted no time as he started walking forward, not directly towards Light, but around him, towards the open Death Note on the music stand behind him.

"Kira?" Light asked in confusion. Even though L knew beyond a doubt that Light was Kira, it was still difficult to see through his acting. Light's face slipped to surprise, and he almost smiled. "Oh, I see how you could become confused," Light began lightly. "This is a black notebook, but it's not a Death Note." His hand flicked out to the notebook behind him, and L saw the twitch of his fingers as he casually—seemingly accidentally—knocked the music stand off the edge of the building behind him.

"Shit!" yelled Light suddenly, turning around and grasping for the stand. The notebook went sailing for the edge as L rushed forward, and then suddenly stopped himself, just over a meter from the edge. He did not want to be so close to the edge of a building with Light Yagami.

Light was leaning over the low edge, one knee on the ground and one arm outstretched towards the falling music stand and the fluttering Death Note.

"Mogi, please go fetch the notebook. I would like the rest of you to remain here so we may apprehend Light now." L backed off, keeping his eyes on Light's back.

"Oh no, Mogi, don't bother yourself with it. It's just my personal journal. I'll get it myself." Light stood and turned around, maintaining a smile. He looked a little sheepish for having knocked something off the edge of a building. "After all, I'm the one who was clumsy enough to—"

"It is a Death Note. Get it now, Mogi," L said sternly, knowing he could trust the man. He heard the heavy footsteps of the man as he went down the stairs and then the sound of the door swinging into the doorframe. "Yagami, Mastuda, Aizawa," he addressed the remaining three, "please attempt to arrest Light now." L took a few more steps back, knowing that he should allow the police-trained men to do as he had instructed.

"Surely that's not necessary, Ryuuzaki," Light tried, his smile looking more and more forced. Aizawa took a hesitant step forward, and L knew that they were all waiting for their ex-chief to make the first move. "I know nothing I do will make you stop suspecting me, but you've already said you can no longer keep me as your prisoner. I've passed all your tests. We all know I can't be Kira. Why don't we celebrate the fact that you are alive instead, Ryuuzaki?" Light's expression became warmer as he looked towards L. He took a step forward, and L almost expected him to reach out a hand. "I can still hardly believe my eyes."

"I have disproved the thirteen day rule." L stated bluntly. "In moments, Mogi will return with the proof."

"Proof?" Light asked, his brow crinkling. "What kind of proof would he have?"

"You and I both know that it was another Death Note." L watched Light's expression carefully, realizing that he did not know what the cat might do, once he was cornered by the mice. His own face remained impassive. "Yagami, I am sorry. However…." L trailed off, hoping the man would understand his implied command.

"Yes, I understand," Light's father said gruffly, taking a deep breath.

"I can't believe it!" cried Mastuda abruptly. "Light is Kira?!"

"Don't be silly; of course I'm not Kira," Light continued to reach for excuses. He turned to his father, and L knew that he was becoming desperate, if he was trying to play on family bonds. "Father, after everything I've done to help with this case, you certainly don't believe Ryuuzaki either, do you?" Light looked wounded as his father turned his gaze away, to the distant rooftops and the dim, blinking red lights on the edges of L's building. "Father?" Light queried tremulously.

"I am sorry, Yagami," L said, though it sounded more like a curt reminder rather than an actual apology. He needed someone to move, to get Light in their hands before he attempted to do something rash.

Suddenly, L's phone vibrated and began chirping. His right hand flew to his pocket and he pulled the small silver device out. It was Mogi.

"Yes?" L asked into the receiver. His eyes returned to Light, who had turned around to act utterly hurt and innocent. It was, however, suspicious, and L wished that the men around him had already confined him. Did they not realize that their lives were at stake? As a team of investigators trying to find Kira, they had been on his list for quite some time now. Perhaps Light would transfer that list onto a page of the Death Note.

"You were right, Ryuuzaki. It's a Death Note." Mogi's voice crackled through the speaker.

"Yes. Please inform Yagami of this. I am handing the phone to him now," L said wearily, holding out his arm after he finished the last word. The cell dangled from his fingers, swaying gently in front of the ex-chief's face.

Light turned back around, his face holding a strange mixture of pain and curiosity. He watched L closely as his father took the phone.

"Hello?" Souichiro Yagami asked hesitantly. "Mogi?" There was a pause as he listened to Mogi. L wondered what kind of face the man was making, but he did not dare take his eyes off Light.

The cat was completely cornered now, and L wondered how exactly he would hiss and claw and bite.

He heard Yagami gasp, and then saw him pass the phone to Mastuda with his peripheral vision. Light was now watching his father. Mastuda gasped and L heard the plastic clatter as his cell phone hit the cement of the roof. There was a soft thud, which L assumed to be Mastuda's knees.

"Light…why?"

The man sounded pitiful. L could hear the betrayal in his voice. He did not move his eyes from Light. Now, when they all knew the truth… Light was either going to confess, or try to kill them all. L knew that the higher percentage lay with the latter option.

"Oi, what's—" Aizawa began, and then he suddenly paused. "Mogi?" There was a long pause, during which the only sound was Mastuda's labored breaths and the wind whistling across the rooftop accompanied by a distant rumble of thunder. L watched Light's eyes, knowing that his expression would only hint at his true thoughts. He was undoubtedly going over his options now, trying to find another excuse. He was probably going to try to kill them now.

L's eyes narrowed slightly. He would not put it past Light to carry hidden pieces of the killer's notebook with him everywhere. Perhaps he had already given Light the opportunity to kill? Light had turned around before and hidden his hands from view… perhaps it was already too late?! Light might have already written the investigators' names down, and was simply waiting for them to die so he could physically push L off the edge of the building, as accidentally as he had pushed the music stand. He opened his mouth to hurry the ex-police officers forward.

Light's father broke the near-silence with the tapping of his shoes before L could with his voice. The man walked in front of L, towards his son, stopping directly in front of the boy. L silently cursed him for obscuring his view of Light's hands, but remedied the situation by stepping sideways. Light was staring up at his father with a look of hope.

"Light… I'm sorry," Yagami said heavily. He produced a pair of handcuffs, and lifted one of the metal circles to Light's right wrist.

L watched carefully as Light flung his arm out of the way as if the steel would burn him. He appeared to be beyond wounded. L lifted his thumb to his mouth, and pressed gently against his front teeth.

"F-father?" Light cried out. Yagami flinched back from the outburst, and Light's nearly tearful eyes. L could see the older man's resolution wavering. Did he believe his son, or a man who had faked his own death only days before?

There was the creaking of hardly-used hinges behind him, and then a deep voice, panting slightly. "Ryuuzaki…." It was Mogi. L continued to watch Light, but held out his hand to receive the Death Note. Yagami turned around to look at the doorway, and must have seen the notebook, because his eyes widened only a moment before L felt the smooth cover of the Death Note in his hands. A streak of lightning split the sky.

Light looked afraid, and in that instant L remembered that he was only eighteen, still a boy. How curiously innocent Light seemed, in his fear.

After a long moment of rolling thunder, L removed his eyes from the boy and looked for the death god. He found it crouching on the top of a higher section of the roof, its wings splayed out in the likeness of an eerie, living gargoyle. It was as large as the previous one, but darkly colored, except for his face, which was a ghastly white around large, grinning purple lips. The death god stared back at L with large yellow eyes and crimson pupils, his lips cracking open to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. It raised a hand as if waving.

"I have found the death god," L said, his eyes locked on the hulking figure looming to his right. He moved the Death Note to his left hand, holding it carefully by one corner, and he raised his right hand to point to the death god. His dark eyes slid back to focus on Light, who was beginning to look panicked.

He was indeed still a boy, not quite an adult, and probably too young to truly comprehend what he had become. L felt an unfamiliar surge of pity for the Light, and the hand carrying the Death Note slowly lowered to his side.

Movement from Yagami caught L's attention, and forced him to acknowledge the world beyond Light's peculiarly innocent face. The older man had taken a step, and then hurried to take the Death Note from L's fingers.

Yagami's breath caught as he gripped the notebook and stared over L's wild black hair. The father choked back a sob of horror. Again, L felt the strange sensation of pity for another. Is this what it meant to show his face to others?

"Too bad, huh?" the death god's voice rasped out. "It looks like our partnership is over." L wished he had two sets of eyes, one to watch the death god, and another to watch Light. He opted to watch who he considered the most dangerous of the two and kept his gaze fixed securely on the human in front of him as a gust of wind raced across the rooftop.

Yagami shook and held the Death Note out to L with trembling fingers. The ex-chief slid to his knees, horrified at the implication of the death god's words. They now held more than enough evidence to prove that Light was Kira.

"What is it, chief?" Mastuda's voice rang out shrilly. L felt the Death Note move as someone touched it, and then the sound of Mastuda stumbling back in fear as he perceived the death god.

L continued watching Light, feeling sorry that this had happened, although he had planned the entire thing. Light literally had no place to go; he already had his back to the edge of the tall building and the only exit lay behind the team of investigators. His eyes were wide in a mixture of shock and terror, and L could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. If the boy had not been fixated on the movement of the Death Note among his enemies, L was sure that those eyes would have been darting around, seeking an escape.

L felt another moment of pressure on the black notebook, and assumed that Aizawa had touched it. Now everyone on the roof was aware that the item in L's hand was the real thing, the powerful and supernatural weapon known as the Death Note.

Light stared at the investigation team, his face contorted with a nightmarish expression of terror. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed across the stormy black sky. When the darkness returned, Light's face had relaxed and hardened at the same time.

He was looking at them from Kira's eyes, and L saw no sign of the frightened boy. His black eyes opened wider in surprise. Had that also been a mask? Perhaps, and this was the true face of the murderer, the one L had seen towering over him with an evil grin as he had succumbed to the drugs from Wammy. Those eyes stared directly into his, daring him to look away, yet keeping him from doing so at the same time.

Light's voice, when it reached him, was low and strong, imbued with its own sense of power and justice. "That's right.

"I am Kira."

L could not help himself. His corners of his mouth turned upwards into a smile as he heard Light's confession. Light was turning this into a different challenge, one which pitted their forms of justice against each other. It was L versus Kira, in the open at last, the last battle of their intellects, taking place on the top of a windswept tower in the dead of night.

L would win, and he would have his victory over Kira. He narrowed his eyes and stared through the fringes of his black hair as it danced across his face in the wind.

Light turned, and looked down on the city below him. His voice, still carrying the taste of power that Kira so craved, filled the night. "So… what will you do?" he asked, turning his head slightly to watch L. "Kill me here?"

L pondered the idea, and a second later discarded it. He waited for the killer to continue speaking, wondering how far he would go, to what lengths he would try to convince them of his righteousness.

"Listen…" Kira spoke quietly this time, but with no less intensity. Thunder roared across the heavens and retreated deep into the distance, and the figure on the edge of the rooftop turned suddenly, facing his audience. L found that he was indeed listening, leaning forward to hear the words as they escaped his enemy's lips. "I _am _Kira… the God of the new world."

L held his breath, his heart pounding as tension crackled through the air. Finally, he was getting inside of Kira's mind. He was going to find out exactly what Kira believed he was, and why he indulged himself in such arrogance.

"In the world we live in today, Kira is law and protects order," he began, his voice low and seductive. "Soon I will be justice," Kira continued in a direct challenge, "the hope of all mankind." He spread his arms wide as if he were an angel offering them the hope he claimed to hold. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked, and L understood his posture to be also an expression of vulnerability. Kira wanted to be everything, power and weakness combined, God and the Devil both. "Is that really okay?"

"During the time Kira has existed, wars have ended and violence has nearly vanished." Light's arms fell to his sides as he explained his reasoning, returning to the logic of men rather than the righteousness of the divine. "But this world still needs help. There are still so many immoral people. Someone had to do something!"

L's smile returned as he recognized the bit of Kira that was also himself. There were so many criminals, and so few able to catch them, to stop them, to punish them, and thereby protect the innocent. They both tread the fine line between legitimate and vigilante justice. Kira was playing up the common ground he shared with those present on the dark rooftop, attempting to sway them to his cause. L knew that Kira had no chance; they had been chasing him for far too long for his words to have any effect. L's victory was inevitable.

"When I was given the notebook, I realized it had to be me." L caught the hint of Light's arrogance and the dark attraction of the notebook's power in that voice as it gained momentum and rose above the wind. "Only I could do it. Even though I know killing people is a crime, there was no other way to make the world safer. That was the purpose given to me. Only I could do it… who else could have come this far?"

L did not dare to answer Light's last question, though it had been rhetorical. Instead, he let himself continue smiling eagerly, waiting for Kira's monologue to come to a close. It was already too late for him to coax and persuade the investigation team to Kira's cause. They had already killed whatever similarities they shared with the mass murderer when they chose to risk their lives to fight for L's justice. All that Kira could raise now were ghosts of those feelings.

Kira's voice floated serenely, almost tragically, across the wind. "To create a beautiful new world… only I could do it."

For L, the last piece fit into the puzzle. He understood Light—Kira—and his complex personality that led him to believe he was performing the utmost self-sacrifice for the betterment of the world. It would be not an indulgence, but his rightful payment, to therefore become the God of his new world. As its creator, he did not only desire, but _deserved_ to be its all-powerful ruler. It was arrogance masquerading as righteousness. Cruelty pretending to be justice. Kira was man believing he was God.

And he was wrong.

"No, you are just a murderer," L told him ruthlessly. "You are mistaken to think that you have become a God."

He heard the team gasp and shuffle around him. L had destroyed Kira in the eyes of those he had vainly tried to convince of his righteousness.

A scream of fury echoed throughout the night air, startling L and causing him to turn away from Kira to find the source of the noise, as the death god broke out into a harsh laugh.

Mastuda stood with his arms raised, a gun in both hands, pointed towards the lurking figure of the cackling death god. The man's expression was a mixture of betrayal and hatred, and L perceived that Mastuda had tipped over the edge when faced with the treachery of the youngest member of their team. He fired a shot towards the supernatural monster before anyone could hold him back. Aizawa grabbed Mastuda's arm roughly, forcing him to release the gun with at least one hand, and held him tightly as the death god laughed even harder. L knew that the bullet would have passed straight through the creature without harming it in the slightest.

L also knew that Mastuda was aware of that fact, which meant that the situation had suddenly deteriorated into something quite dangerous. If Mastuda's frustration was not quickly quelled or silenced, the young ex-policeman might turn to Light, the source of his bitterness… but this time armed with madness and a gun.

L needed to take control of the situation, and quickly. Mastuda needed to be completely subdued, and Kira needed to be captured. L whirled around suddenly, remembering that no one was watching the murderer on the far edge of the rooftop. Light was standing with his back to everyone, his hands and wrists out of sight….

"His hands!" L yelled suddenly, drawing the attention of the team back to the real problem at hand. He wanted to rush forward, but did not dare putting himself that close to the edge of the tall building when Light had already confessed to being his most aggressive and dangerous enemy.

The rest of the team was startled at L's sudden outburst. Yagami rose to his feet as Mogi and Aizawa rushed forward. Another shot burst forth, and it was immediately accompanied by a sudden falter in Light's right leg.

L felt like giving the man a backhand across the face. Of all the stupid things for Mastuda to do….

Light fell to the ground, his back flat against the cold concrete. L violently swung up an arm to bar the anguished Mastuda from rushing to the fallen Light. Yagami, Aizawa, and Mogi would be enough, especially with Light having already been shot. The fool next to him was lucky that he had not sent the suspect spiraling off the edge of the building to fall to an unpleasant and undoubtedly messy death with that bullet.

A shriek of pain escaped Light and he suddenly convulsed, clutching at his leg. Yagami's stride hitched, but the man managed to reach his son's side first despite it. Light was glaring with unabated anger at Mastuda as his father bent to crouch next to him. Yagami's arms extended to lift up Light's head and cradle it gently in a gesture of fatherly concern. Light writhed and gripped his father's arm with a bloodied hand, pulling himself into something closer to a sitting position. The two other investigators stood over him, panting for a moment, until Mogi suddenly shouted and pointed to where Light was seizing Yagami's arm.

"It's his watch!" Mogi yelled, diving for Light's wrist and pulling it forcefully from its position over his father's arm. Yagami was startled and gave a wordless cry of protest at the intrusion. Light tried to jerk his hand back, but the large man kept a firm grip on the boy's wrist as he unclasped the silver watch and slid it off the crimson-stained hand.

A small piece of paper floated down from the watch, catching in the breeze. All eyes were suddenly riveted on the seemingly innocent flutter of the paper as it swooped low to the concrete… and Aizawa stomped on it heavily, trapping the evidence beneath his foot.

L gave Mastuda a rapid and deadly look, then dropped his arm and walked unerringly forward. As he came closer he could hear more clearly Light's labored breathing and the small choking noises in the back of Yagami's throat. Light's eyes met his, and they glazed over with terror. He struggled against Mogi's grip on his wrist and Yagami's firm hold on his head and shoulders, as if he felt compelled to run or hide from the approaching detective.

A deep, rolling thunder permeated the clouded night.

"Ryuk!" Light's voice came out strangled this time, and his glossy, fear-stricken eyes flicked towards the structure where the god of death crouched. L followed the quick gaze and saw the god rise to its feet before stretching its thin black wings and flying down towards the cluster of humans.

Aizawa stumbled back in fright and Mogi dropped Light's wrist as if it had suddenly caught fire. The two stepped away as Light thrashed about, breaking free from his father and rising to his feet as the death god landed next to him. L took one step back once Light returned to a standing position, although he doubted the killer could push him off the edge while leaning so heavily on his left leg.

"Write their names down!" Light yelled in a voice filled with desperation. He looked wildly at the death god, and L suddenly stiffened. Would the death god kill on Kira's command? L knew that because he had already written down his own name, he would be spared a heart attack on this lonely rooftop, but the rest of the investigation… would he be a spectator as they shuddered and died as Kira's victims?

L watched in horror as the death god reached a hand into a small pouch at his waist. From it, he pulled a black notebook and a bony white pen carved as a stack of skulls. All was silent, motionless.

Strange, maniacal laughter bubbled from Light's lips as the death god opened the death note and raised his pen. The investigation team began to scurry away from the death god, and the sound of the door slamming behind Matsuda echoed across the open rooftop. This time Aizawa fell over as he stumbled away, his eyes locked onto the towering form of the death god. Yagami was shaking, unable to lift himself from his position where Light had left him to stand at the death god's side. Mogi continued backing away fearfully towards the exit.

L stood with his bare feet planted to the concrete as the death god's pen descended to the paper. He clearly heard the scratching of the nib on the paper, although the wind should have been enough to make the sound inaudible. As the pen withdrew, slowly, Light began trembling.

L was in shock. He had not expected the death god to go this far. He had not meant to let the investigation members die at those claw-like hands. He knew that it would probably best for him to move, to leave the building and call for some kind of reinforcements with masks, to save what was left of his own life before Light managed to shove him over the low railing of his own building.

The death god's wide, purple smile disappeared as he looked at the young human next to him. "You've lost, Light," said the god, flipping the notebook around to show Light what he had written.

L caught a glimpse of the black lines on the edge of the page and the Japanese character for moon. _Tsuki._ Also read as "Light."

Shock and pity flooded through the detective as he slowly turned his head and staring black eyes to Light. Light Yagami was going to die.

The boy's father choked back a real sob this time, and crumpled to the ground. The door to the stairs clunked shut as Mogi left the rooftop.

Light did not move.

"Didn't I tell you that when you die, the one who'll write your name down in a notebook will be me?" the death god reminded Light softly. L continued staring, almost without seeing. Light had known that the death god would eventually betray him. Light had known all along that he would die the same death he had dealt criminals and those who opposed him. L thought again of Light's belief in his own self-sacrifice. He had known that his choices would result in his death…. He had known that he was becoming something worthy of his own punishment.

"That is the deal between death gods and the first human to get their hands on the note in the human world," the god continued, grimacing in Light's direction. It appeared that the god truly did not care about Light's well-being or his plans to become something greater than what anyone had ever become before.

Light nodded, and L wondered if was actually listening. Time was moving forward… for both of them. Light was going to die soon, and L… L was not sure that he wanted him to.

"Well, it was good while it lasted and we killed some boredom, didn't we?" the death god went on, and L felt an instinctual surge of anger at the hulking creature. The disregard for life, for a life that belonged to someone so brilliant… so misguided…. "We did some pretty interesting things, huh, Light." L had never viewed a death this unfair, and yet so fitting. But Light had known that this would happen, and yet… he had continued, striving to become Kira, the God of the new world.

It was pathetic. Pitiful, really, but L would miss his first friend. L knew that his own life would cease to have meaning, once Light's heart stopped beating and his eyes finally closed. There was nothing else left for L after this… only his own death waiting, patiently.

L watched as Light took a deep and steadying breath. He steeled his visage and looked to the forlorn detective.

"Ryuuzaki," Light said, his voice ringing out strongly for the last time. L watched him resolutely, determined to hear these last words. He felt as if they were finally facing each other, not as Kira and the detective trying to catch him, but simply as two people, Light Yagami and L Lawliet.

Light gave him a slight smile, which he returned sadly. They shared something, after all, and were probably more alike than either really wanted to admit. If only…. L pushed the thought aside, knowing it was wasted and far too late. In some kind of ultimate irony, they were both going to die at their own hands because they had risked all to kill the other.

Was this the only way for the game to end? A stalemate?

"I only wish you could believe as I do. I would have you as my successor as I was nearly yours." Light was being honest, L knew. His eyes widened at the sudden confession, which in a way was more important that his previous one. "Ryuuza—wait, L Lawliet," Light continued, and L was surprised to hear his true name on Light's lips. He found he did not mind the sound, nor the look of something like appreciation, or perhaps even affection, that was directed towards him as their eyes locked. "_We_ are justice."

L could not speak. He could only nod.

"And don't forget…" the gravelly voice of the death god interrupted, "a human who uses the Death Note cannot go to Heaven or Hell. After you die, you'll see… _nothing_."

L watched Light spasm, and felt his own chest constrict. Nothing? He had not known… but Light, Light had known, and he had continued regardless.

Light's arm went to his chest, pushing firmly to try to relieve the pressure he must be feeling. The dying boy looked towards the limp and sobbing form of his father. Light's stance, already unbalanced by the shot to his leg, faltered dangerously. The death god spread his wings and lifted into the air, and Light's gaze seemed to be following it, except his head tilted back further, towards the cloudy sky. L hardly realized he was moving until after the fact, when he was holding Light's shoulders, sinking slowly to the ground beneath the boy.

"Dad…" Light gasped weakly, staring up towards the sky. His head was in L's lap, and L could feel the slight flutter of Light's heart as it weakened.

Light's eyes seemed to focus on his own for a moment… giving him one last glimpse into the mind he had longed to understand. Light's face wavered and became blurry, and a single teardrop fell onto the boy's cheek.

It rolled downwards as Light slowly closed his eyes.

----L----

* * *

Author's Note: Wondering what Ryuk was saying before L touched the notebook? If you enjoyed this story, please read anja-chan's fanfiction of the same title (AfterLife). It follows the same plot, but is written from Light's perspective. 

Please review if you liked it, and especially if you did _not_ like it. Thanks for reading and I hope to hear from you again after gasp the next chapter is posted.


	2. Chapter 1

**AfterLife**

**Chapter 1**

----L----

November 26th, 2007

L wandered through the black iron gates, past the yard full of playing, happy children. He watched the cold, wet grass, letting his long bangs shade his face. The sun was shining far too brightly for his black eyes and ominous future. It felt distinctly wrong that the sun was so bright, though he supposed that the feeling was probably natural after his flight. He had spent over fifteen hours in the air with no hint of night, and it was still morning.

It was his last sunny, English morning, though L found it difficult to be interested in his surroundings, as it had been since the last case closed. Even though included in his surroundings were these happy children, the children who would live in a world free of the less-than-divine power that had been Kira….

He listlessly tugged his duffel bag on the ground behind him. There was not much in it. Before, Wammy had always done all of his packing, made all his meals, reserved all his flights…. L had discovered that packing up his own things was depressing. The act had been a lonely one, performed in an empty building. The bag held only a change of clothes, L's only pair of shoes, his laptop, his plush kitten, Light's Death Note, a picture of Wammy's grave. L had discovered that nothing else had been worth bringing from his building in Tokyo.

A few of the youngest children stared, their cheeks and noses pink from the November air, and most of the older ones pretended to ignore him. With their childlike presumption, they were undoubtedly telling the younger ones that to stare was impolite. Even at strangers, which, to many of them, he was.

L began shuffling carefully up the concrete steps to the building's entrance. His bag caught on the bottom step, and he realized that it was time to sling the nylon strap over his hunched shoulder. He descended the stairs to free his bag as a brisk wind coursed through the yard, flattening the patches of tall grass and eliciting squeals from the children.

The yard and the ancient brick building seemed to have avoided all change. It was almost as if the world outside the Wammy's House did not exist. The children laughed, and spun cartwheels on the yellowing grass, their scarves flowing out behind them. They plucked long stems of the graying grass by the handful and ran screaming away from the opposite gender's cooties. They puffed small clouds into the air, through small, smiling lips.

L sighed heavily and turned back to the stairs and the door in front of him. A part of him was surprised that it had not already been opened. Perhaps no one recognized him anymore, though admittedly it would be hard to mistake him for someone else. Or perhaps they were disinclined to invite him in after his failure to keep Wammy from harm….

No, if anything, they were busy. He knew that there were security cameras placed around the orphanage to protect the children, and knew that his presence was being recorded on those cameras. The seeming indifference of the orphanage bothered him, though only slightly. It was hard to find the effort to care, but nonetheless he had to because some of the children here would gain enemies in the future.

Of course, those were only the children that wanted to be like him.

But it had been for those children that he had returned to this place. There was actually several important decisions to be made before he followed Light Yagami. His mind flinched away from the subject, and he looked out of his eyes again, determined not to look inwardly or contemplate all possible meanings of the word "nothing."

L reached out a hand to the doorknob and paused. It was strange, how he felt the urge to knock. The Wammy's House was his home, or at least the closest thing he had to one. Why should he feel like such an outsider? He sighed again and looked down at his bare feet, dirtied by the mud on the edge of the road. It was the story of his life, wasn't it.

He turned the knob and stepped inside. He almost wished he had the strength to play some kind of game, but he truly felt as if all the life in him had already been leached away. Wammy's sudden and unforeseeable death followed by the confrontation during which Light had died unexpectedly had been too much, too soon. The world had been ripped away from him before he had a chance to rip himself from it.

The next morning had been the unexpected confession from Misa and L's decision to convince Soichiro Yagami that the blonde was harmless without her memories of the Death Note. L had then allowed Misa to be free, to grieve with the women of Light's family, believing, like them, that Light had died heroically in the battle against Kira. Sometimes he wished he could be free to believe the same thing.

It was more than all of that, however. It was the entire Kira investigation. He had become too close to the people working for him. He had become attached, however so slightly, and now all of that was going away too. L had only been given the tiniest taste of camaraderie, and before he could fully appreciate what a life like that could offer, it had all been taken away.

L's eyes adjusted quickly to the inner gloom. No one was in the hallway. He turned to the right, his feet automatically moving to take him to his room. He assumed that the children who he had come to see were in classes right now.

And Roger? Perhaps Roger was ignoring him, or busy disciplining a child. Or maybe someone was sick, and Roger was taking care of him or her.

L turned and made his way up the flight of steep stairs. At the first landing was a window, rectangular. The harsh light streaming through it caused L to see the tiny dancing motes near the floor, although he felt disinclined to note anything that was less lethargic than himself. When his bare feet had finally brought him to the third floor, L padded quietly down to the room at the end of the hall.

It was on the left. Of course.

L saw that the tiny scrap of paper he had left in the door frame was still there, a few inches above his stooped shoulder level. At first glance, it appeared as if no one had entered his room during his absence. Then again, it would have been second-nature for many, if not all of the children to have replaced such an obvious check.

L reached his hand out to the keypad by the door and used one slim finger to tap in the code. Sometimes he was not sure why he was so paranoid. The light on the keypad flickered to green, and L knew that his door had unlocked.

He opened the door and was vaguely surprised to see that a fine layer of dust had settled over everything, almost as if he were already dead. L wandered to the center of his room, and checked the bedside clock, which was still glowing a faint red despite the dust. 11:12 AM. That meant that it was already 8:12 in Tokyo. He doubted the Death Note would care that he had changed time zones. Less than four hours.

Dusting was not worth it. L let the duffel bag fall from his shoulder. It hit the floor with a dull clump. The dust billowed from the carpet up in a small puff, in shapes that were oddly like the small breaths of air from the children outside. Yet outside, they were so young and alive….

L stood in the center of his room, his black eyes silently taking in his surroundings. The dust had easily settled again, in this dim and deafeningly quiet room.

It was as if no one lived here….

Lonely.

The bells chimed and his eyes slid closed. _Nothing…._

A sudden knocking on the door shook him from his near narcoleptic thoughts. L's eyes fluttered open and started widely at the door. Nothing in the room had changed, and L was completely unaware if any time had passed.

He glanced to the clock. His head tilted slightly in amazement. A full half-hour?

The knocking sounded again, seemingly impatient this time.

"L? Are you in there?" It was Mello's voice, and as usual, he sounded angry.

"Yes," L replied, walking to the door. There was a sound like muffled whispers, and a hiss that undoubtedly came from Mello. L opened the door, and the first smile in a long time curved across his lips.

"Children." He nodded in greeting.

Mello had placed Matt between himself and Near, who seemed listless but was probably trying to peer into L's room. Behind them, Orphan was bouncing on the balls of her feet, a gray cat purring contentedly in her arms. They were… just as he had left them.

"L!" Mello yelled, his face turning into a grin. He immediately tried to take the space directly in front of L. Matt smiled at the ground and stepped aside, and L caught a whiff of cigarette smoke from the boy.

"How was Japan?" asked Orphan, trying to make eye contact over Mello's taller figure. Near held out his arms towards L, his expression unchanged.

"I will tell you," L said, stepping back into his room, ready to usher them inside. Matt and Mello perked up suddenly, eager to finally be let inside their mentor's room.

But the dust…. L's eyes suddenly darted around, and he knew he could not let them in, not into his dead room. Not into the room where life was backwards and dust was the precursor to death, and ashes were skipped altogether.

L took his duffel bag from the center of the room, and then quickly stepped forward into the hallway, closing the door behind him, to the disappointment of the children. "We have much to talk about. Let us go to the room above the library." Mello and Matt looked a little put out, and Near remained in the same pose, arms outstretched.

"Okay," Orphan chirped brightly, the first to recover. As she turned towards the stairs, the cat in her arms squirmed and jumped to the floor. "Beowulf!" she moaned after the feline.

Near flashed L a rare smile as the older detective leaned down to give him a quick hug. "Welcome back," the boy whispered. He kept his arms firmly latched onto L's neck, a sign that L was supposed to carry him to wherever it was that they were going.

Mello rolled his eyes pointedly as L turned around and let Near climb onto his back. He hooked his arms underneath Near's tiny, pajama-clad legs, and then looked to Mello.

"Would you please bring my bag for me, Mello?" he asked the blond, who looked both startled and immensely pleased.

"Yeah," he replied, reaching for the gray bag and slinging the strap over his thin shoulders. The five began making their way down the hall, and Mello seemed quite eager to hear any news. "So, L, are you going to tell us about Kira?"

L kept his black eyes straight ahead, and nodded once. Near leaned forward and rested his head on L's shoulder. Mello tried to ignore him, and was largely unsuccessful. L suspected that Near was intentionally antagonizing his rival by staring at him with unblinking eyes.

"Hey, you didn't see any copies of _Intelligent License_ while you were in Japan, did you?" Matt asked quietly, not quite able to keep the tinge of hope from his voice. He was gripping his PSP tightly with a gloved hand.

"Of course not, Matt," Orphan answered. She scooped up Beowulf, and called back as she began tromping down the stairs. "L had way better things to do than look for a game for you." She glanced back up when she reached the landing. "Isn't that right, L?"

L simply allowed a smile to return to his face, and then he looked at the goggled boy. "Sorry, Matt. I either did not have the time, or I was busy thinking of other things."

Matt nodded, and shrugged to say it was not a big deal. "If you _had_ looked, it would have been kinda weird. It's not like you ever go to stores and stuff." A finger switched the PSP on, and L contemplated the truth of Matt's words for a moment.

"What were you thinking about?" Mello asked as L negotiated his way down the stairs with Near on his back.

"The Kira case," L answered, amazed at the extent of the nonchalant tone he had just conjured. Mello held his breath, and he could feel Near tense ever so slightly. "And other important things," L continued, his voice darkening. Those other important things were the decisions that he had made, those last preparations before he said good-bye, and the reason he had returned to the Wammy's House. The important things were… well, they were with him at that moment, asking him questions.

"What was more important than the Kira case?" Orphan asked, moving the gray cat so it rested its front paws on her shoulder.

"He didn't say it was more important, simply that it was important, Orphan," Mello contradicted her sharply. "And?" he asked, turning back to L.

L reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned to the library doors at the end of the hall. "I will tell you once we reach the room," L responded, shifting Near's weight a little higher. Apparently some things _had_ changed since he had last seen the children. Near had grown, albeit not very much.

The five continued in silence, and Orphan let the cat go so she could open the large, wooden doors to the library. Beowulf trotted off to sit on one of the chairs in the room, and began licking his paws.

Matt walked through the door automatically, his arms holding the PSP at his chest, his fingers moving rapidly across the buttons. His feet took him to the staircase at the left, which led up to the small room that only L used, and only for special occasions.

Mello stayed at L's side, and watched him closely. L suspected that he did not want to seem outdone by Near, who occupied a spot that was, at the same time, the most revered and the most reviled.

Near was the only one L had ever carried, after all. But Mello would not want to seem like some kind of burden, either. In fact, that was precisely why L had asked Mello to carry his bag. Because instead of being a burden, Mello would be useful, and because he was being useful to L, he was beating Near at whatever competition his mind made it out to be. And Near simply did not care about competitions.

They continued up the flight of stairs, and L finally let Near off his back once they reached the door at the top. None of the children knew the passcode to enter the room, although L assumed that now was as good a time as any.

"It's 23-16-84," L told them as he punched in the numbers on the keypad. The four stared at him in surprise, and the keypad turned green. Matt quickly shut off his game, and began shooting worried glances to Mello, who was grinning like a cat playing with a mouse. L opened the door and stepped inside, feeling Near's hand grab onto his sleeve as he did so. Orphan followed behind them, with the two 14-year-old boys behind her. Mello closed the door behind him, and then obediently brought L his duffel bag.

The room was rather ordinary, and held only a rectangular table and, haphazardly around it, six chairs. There was an analog clock on the wall, and windows high, horizontal windows on the wall opposite it.

"Sit down," L told them as he hoisted the duffel bag onto the table. They found seats opposite him, except for Near, who perched on the chair to his right. L took a deep breath. "I have very much to tell you, and not very much time," he began, unzipping the bag. He had roughly a little over three hours. "Please listen quietly. I will allow you to ask questions later when I am done going over everything that is important." As he spoke he looked each child in the eye, moving his gaze from one to the other until he found himself looking at Near again.

The room was tense. He knew they were not stupid, and they had undoubtedly picked up on L's strange behavior.

"As I am sure you must be aware, the Kira Investigation has closed. You have heard that Kyousuke Higuchi was Kira, am I correct?" Four heads nodded. "He was the Third Kira." Orphan suppressed a squeak of surprise. Near did not look the least bit impressed, and Matt seemed to be surprised at Mello's calm acceptance of this fact. Good. Near and Mello had already deduced that much on their own. "The First Kira was Light Yagami, who is now dead." L's voice came out strangely hollow, and he swallowed. "The Second Kira is Misa Amane, who now has no memory of ever killing and has no way to kill again." At this, Near blinked, and Mello's forehead wrinkled. Matt was staring at the wood of the table, and Orphan was staring wide-eyed at L.

L took his eyes from the children to search his duffle bag. He retrieved Light's Death Note, and held it by the corner between his thumb and first finger. "This is Kira's weapon." He knew the children were finding it difficult to keep silent. Even Near's mouth hung slightly open. "It is a Death Note: a notebook that once belonged to a death god. There are rules written inside, and you may look at them if you wish. However, you must never write in the Death Note. There is an unwritten rule that those who write in the Death Note can never go to Heaven or Hell and instead become nothing." L took another deep breath, and set the Death Note down. He needed to change the topic, and he needed to change it away from nothing and to something else. Quickly. Before he became overwhelmed by the consequences of his actions, and before he was lost in his own thoughts.

He heard a bell chime, somewhere.

"Now, children," L said, and his eyes refocused on them. Mello looked worried. L wondered if Near was working out what had happened and why L was acting so strange. "I do not know if you know this, but Kira has killed two people who absence will affect your lives."

Mello shot to his feet. "Which Kira did it?!" Apparently, he was already eager for revenge. Mello was prone to reacting prematurely and violently, and would probably plot for revenge even before he knew who Kira's victims were.

"Wammy…" said Orphan quietly, and L realized that it must be obvious by now. And these children were supposed to be great detectives. L never traveled without Wammy, and to arrive alone at the Wammy's House….

L nodded gravely, ignoring Mello's outburst. Mello's skin looked white against his black leather, and the boy sank back into his seat, his eyes wide. L doubted he had expected Kira to strike so close to home.

"Wammy died of a heart attack on November 5th." L reached into his bag again, and this time pulled out the picture of the grave. "If you ever want to visit him, the address is on the back of the photo." He laid the picture on the table, and the three across from him leaned in to get a good view of it.

L looked into the old bag again, and pulled out the change of clothes, as well as the shoes. He set them on the floor, and returned to the bag. There was only his laptop and his black, plush kitten left inside the gray bag.

L felt his brilliant mind stop for a moment. He did not want to tell them. He did not want to tell Near that he would not give him another piggy-back ride. He did not want to tell Matt that he would never be able to stop the boy from hacking into Wammy's main server despite being busy with an investigation. He did not want to tell Mello that he would never take him back to Rome as he had promised during their first and only visit. He did not want to tell Orphan that he would not be there when she made him the customary syrup and strawberry drenched waffles for breakfast the next morning.

L felt his head tilt to one side and he looked down at the two items in the bag. He stared at the gray material forlornly for a long moment.

But he did not even have this time to waste.

"Chil—no, I suppose you are not children anymore." L climbed into a chair and leaned his chin on his knees. He let out a long sigh. "Detectives," he said, using the same tone he had always used to address them, but all of them except Near sat up a little straighter. "I said Kira had two victims," he reiterated.

"The other one is me."

The room erupted into noise and movement. Clearly, this idea did not sit well with anyone.

"No!" yelled Orphan, leaning back in her chair and nearly toppling it.

"But you're not dead!" Mello snarled, standing so suddenly that his chair did fall over.

"What?!" asked Matt loudly as he dodged the arm of Mello's chair. He stood as well.

Near, on the other hand, went completely limp and fell out of his seat.

L did not move, and instead closed his eyes. He supposed that he could take comfort in the fact that people would miss him. But he could only take comfort in that fact for so long…. He shooed his mind away from thoughts of a lonely and eternal nothingness.

"Stop fucking around!" Mello demanded. L opened his eyes to see Mello glaring at him. Ah, denial. He wanted L to take it back, and make it so it never happened. The boy's hands were clenched into fists, and he looked ready to punch.

"Yeah," Matt said, looking away. L watched as the boy gripped his own striped arms tightly. Matt was too afraid to look too closely at L's words.

L looked at Orphan, and her dark brown eyes were filling with tears. She looked straight back at L, and then flung her face into her tanned hands. Her silky hair fluttered as she took shuddering breaths.

Near was still motionless, though L suspected that the boy could still hear him if he spoke.

"In order to prove that Light Yagami was the First Kira, I had to write my name in the Death Note," L explained, glossing over the details. "It is possible to write down a name and then the time when that person will die, making it possible for Kira to kill in advance."

"So…" Mello cut in, his posture relaxing, "you aren't going to die until the time you specified."

"Correct," L said, proud of the boy's quick reasoning.

"Then it's probably not for a very long time, because it would be stupid to write your name down for a few days later," Mello continued, his voice becoming stronger as his look of shock turned to a smirk. "Which also makes you the Fourth Kira, ironically enough, because 'Kira' could probably refer to anyone who has used this notebook."

L smiled, and lifted his head from his knee, nodding to Mello.

"However," came Near's breathy voice from the floor, catching everyone's attention, "if that were truly the case, then the other Kira's would have done the same for themselves, because it would become a way to prolong their lives. Rather than seeing it as the date that they would die, it would be the date until which they would live. If it were truly as simple as you say, Mello, then I am sure that all of the Kiras would still be alive." Near's white hair appeared over the edge of the table as the boy sat up and began climbing slowly back into the chair. His dark eyes peered across the table and rested on L.

Mello turned back to L, his voice tight again. "Well, what's the catch, L?"

"The Death Note can only work 23 days in advance," he told them, and watched as they blinked and slowed, and thought about the information.

"Then…" Mello started, his voice trembling, "how much time do you have left?"

The room went still as Mello's question echoed into silence. Orphan had stopped her crying, and seemed to be holding her breath. Then, from across the English fields, from the small city nearby, came the sound of bells.

"Three hours." L closed his eyes, and counted the tolling of the bells. It was noon at the Wammy's House, and 9:00 PM in Tokyo.

L wondered what it would be like to become nothing….

"L!" yelled Orphan, her voice breaking and penetrating the inner reaches of his mind. "L! Don't leave us!"

L's black eyes snapped open again, and he saw that things in the room had changed. He must have been lost in his thoughts again, because Near was now directly beside him, clinging to his shirt sleeve, and Orphan had collapsed onto the table. Mello, from his position away from the table but with a look of horror directed towards L, had undoubtedly been pacing. Matt was still sitting at his seat, but he seemed to be rubbing the space underneath his goggles furiously.

"I'm sorry," L told them. "It is that sometimes… I do not think anymore." He looked at them, trying to smile. "But there is still more that I must tell you. In light of the recent information, I am sure you know what is coming next." L blinked, and noticed that no one had seemed to be paying attention to his words. "Please come and sit down, Mello. Orphan, I must ask you to stop crying. If you would like to come sit next to me, you may." He looked at Near, and the boy immediately sat on the floor, keeping one are raised so he could hold L's sleeve. Orphan scooted her chair around so she could sit next to L. Once Mello was seated, L began.

"This is about the matter of succession," he said, glancing to Mello and then to Near.

"I don't want to hear about it," Mello said stubbornly. He looked away, and it was obvious then that his blue eyes had tears in them.

"The successor to the title of L will be Mello," L stated, and was suddenly interrupted by a choke of surprise from the blond, "_and_ Matt." Matt almost jumped at the sound of his name.

"Both of us?!" Mello yelled, looking rapidly between himself and Matt. The redhead looked just as confused, if not more so.

"Yes," L confirmed, looking at Mello. "Together, you make a team that comes closest to my own talents and intellect. You also work well together. Therefore it is my wish that the two of you continue to work together, and do so under the name of L. You will, however, have to find a different contact with the outside world, now that Watari has passed away," he explained, emphasizing the public's name for Wammy. "I trust that you will be able to do this, Mello, and that you will lead Matt in your pursuit of justice." Mello swallowed and gave L a resolute nod.

He pulled his computer from the duffel bag, and slid it across the table so it lay in front of Matt. "This is yours. It contains all of my contact, security, and investigatory information. The document on the desktop is a list of the different passwords I use. Please memorize them and then delete the document as soon as possible." Matt slowly, reverently placed his hands on the computer as if it were a gold medal, although L knew that the laptop meant more to Matt than any gold medal could ever hope to mean. He looked across the table to L and nodded a promise to take good care of it.

"Near," L said quietly, turning to face the diminutive boy. "I also have an inheritance for you. You shall be Erald Coil and Danuve. Matt's computer has the details of Danuve's current case. You should begin working on that as soon as possible," he informed the 13-year-old detective.

Near tightened his grip on L's sleeve, but did not say anything. L turned to Orphan, who had laid her cheek on the table. Some of her black hair hung across her face.

"Orphan, you are not going to receive a title, but instead you are going to make one for yourself. You are going to become the world's greatest female detective, so I shall not slight you by giving you a title that belongs to a man." She nodded, her cheek sliding on the smooth wood of the table. L looked to the duffel bag, and brought out the last item.

He held it out to Orphan, who lifted her head from the table. "This is Blackberry Shortcake. She is very, very precious to me, and I need you to promise that you will take very good care of her." L's voice wavered. Blackberry Shortcake was L's first and last possession. Memories of that time, so long ago, drifted back to him as he held the tiny, worn toy towards Orphan.

"Blackberry Shortcake is a special kitten. As long as you have Blackberry Shortcake, I will be with you, too," L told the girl carefully as if reciting the words of a very important lesson. It was the lesson that L had never forgotten, and the reason why L had never left the kitten behind.

But for his next journey, he would be entirely alone.

* * *

Well, please review! And don't forget to read and review anja-chan's version of AfterLife (If you just came from there, kudos to you.) Her chapter is a fantastic read. 

And for those of you who need this... I'm sorry and here are some tissues. sniffle


	3. Chapter 2

**AfterLife**

**Chapter 2**

--L--

Lyr watched the wasteland before him, its bleak gray surface punctuated here and there by varying shades of darker or lighter gray: the forms of the other death gods. Behind them were the blackened peaks of rock that formed the boundary of their world, and the solitary hill that was home to the perpetually-dying Orchard with its dead apples.

From his vantage point beneath the crags of the King of Death's throne, Lyr's midnight-blue eyes could take in nearly everything. Not that there was much to take in.

He dug his black toes into the ground absently and then decided to visit the Orchard. He had never been very fond of the other death gods, and it looked as if no one else were presently looking for the thin, little fruit that occasionally appeared on the trees. He padded silently across the valley floor, leaving dusty gray footprints behind him.

The death gods were always sitting, huddled in tiny groups around stone basins, playing games that Lyr had never bothered to learn. He would rather spend the time alone, preferring his own company, because the other death gods had a certain habit of boring him to no end. Lyr made his way around their small groups of three or four, slowly winding his way across the valley.

The small, mostly-black death god had almost walked to the trail leading to the Orchard entirely without incident, when Epranbaye looked up from a game to stare at him. Lyr had to stop, and briefly raise a ghostly white hand in greeting. Epranbaye was probably Lyr's favorite death god, being similarly anti-social**. **

Epranbaye nodded his smooth, gray head in greeting, and Lyr continued towards the Orchard. He stayed on the exact middle of the trail, keeping his bare feet from the rocky edges, as was his habit.

After slowly walking back and forth up switchback after switchback, Lyr found himself passing the first apple tree. It was a stunted, twisted, gray thing, but for some reason it was comforting at the same time. Lyr supposed that he liked the Orchard, and not simply because if offered him a refuge from most of the other death gods. He turned off the trail, and wandered among the contorted trees, looking for apples not because he wanted to eat one, but simply because he wanted to find one.

Lyr knew that the other death gods found him strange, but he did not mind. He trailed his white hands across the branches of a particularly dry tree, and bits of its bark flaked off. He immediately sat, bringing his knees up to his chest and leaning against the tree. Lyr inspected his hand, and saw that indeed there were pieces of the bark speckling his palm and long, spindly fingers. But they were difficult to find. It was the same as any other thing in this world. Once anything was put against a different background, both it and the background seemed to fade into the same color, and it was always gray.

He blew the bits off of him, wondering if at some point, his blue eyes would also fade into gray pits in the sockets of his gray, not pale white, face. And then his hands would also be gray, and not pale white nearly to his elbows. He examined the contrast of skin color on his forearms. White on his hands, blacker than the deepest night on everywhere else, except, he knew, his face.

Though exactly what "night" was, Lyr could not quite recall. He shrugged to himself, and then stood, realizing that the matter probably was, like everything else, not very interesting.

Lyr wandered for some time through the Orchard, taking small delight in finding not one, but two apples. He picked the second one, and then hid it, under a small layer of gray dirt. Perhaps some day he would come back for the little apple, but perhaps not. Or maybe another death god would find it first, and eat it, despite the dirt. He smiled to himself at the thought, imagining Kinddara rubbing his bandaged hands all over the apple, obsessively cleaning the thing before putting it into his mouth. The apples tasted like sand anyway, so Lyr did not know why a little dirt would hurt the taste at all. In fact, maybe the apples would improve with the dirt.

Lyr eventually left the Orchard, and carefully walked down the many switchbacks to the valley below. He was bored again, and debated the idea of telling Kinddara that somewhere in the Orchard was a buried apple. Perhaps he might tell the death god that the apple was somehow special?

But no. Lyr sighed, feeling the inexplicable sense of… something… as it restrained him from pulling such a cruel joke.

Instead, he decided it was probably time to learn one of the games. They seemed to occupy the other death gods enough. Perhaps he would gamble with the apple he had hidden away. Though Lyr was not quite sure he knew exactly where the apple was now. But it did not matter.

Lyr approached Epranbaye's game, and after exchanging the same greeting as before, he set himself to watching the game with the intention of learning it.

Midora and Deridovely, the other players, ignored him. But this was normal and Lyr did not want to talk to them anyway. Besides, Midora and Deridovely were death gods of high rank not known for their empathy, and Lyr did not want to be on the receiving end of either of their stares.

"Go on, Epranbaye," jeered Midora, and Lyr got the distinct impression that Epranbaye was losing. The quiet death god simply scooped up his tiny carved bones and then dropped them into the bowl. Lyr knew enough to know that the particular order and placement of the bones when they landed determined the winner of the round.

After a few rounds, Deridovely laughed triumphantly and asked for the winnings. Midora challenged them to another game, with higher stakes this time—three decades. Lyr did not move, and the others accepted Midora's challenge.

Towards the end of Midora's game, Lyr was confident that he understood most of the rules. This information he had gained by watching these two games would be good enough to play, but Lyr always wanted to be good enough to win.

Therefore, he waited, and he watched.

Deridovely tossed the bones into the bowl, and then sighed in defeat. Midora's previous throw had beaten Deridovely's. Epranbaye nodded, keeping to his usual silence. Suddenly Midora looked up.

"Kei, you wanna join our game?" she asked, her large eyes flashing across their small crowd to the newcomer.

The tall death god made of bones and loose, worn clothing looked around at them disinterestedly. The green gems in his goggles almost gleamed. "No thanks. Why don't you ask Lyr?" he offered, his tone precisely polite.

The three gamblers turned to stare at Lyr—something he did not particularly like. But Kei was not the kind to understand Lyr's perspective on other death gods. Kei was, despite seeming to be somewhat of a loner himself, well-liked and even admired among the death gods.

Lyr shook his head in response to the death gods watching him. "I can't. I don't know how to play this game," he said quietly. It was a lie, but not a big one. And no one would think to call him on this lie, because he had only just learned the basics, and no one would care if he lied or not.

Midora, Deridovely, and Epranbaye went back to their game, but Lyr's attention was suddenly caught on Kei. The skeletal god was staring at Lyr as if he had never seen him or anything like him before. Lyr blinked his wide blue eyes…once… and Kei recovered.

"I'll teach you, Lyr," Kei said, his reddish eyes brightening. "Come with me." He shifted his weight, letting Lyr know he was about to leave and offering the smaller death god a chance to follow.

"Thank you," Lyr replied, nodding. Kei turned and Lyr followed him, a dark shadow trailing softly in the wake of the death god's long strides.

Kei continued walking until they had reached the outskirts of the valley. Here and there among the gray crags of rock were dark chains and abandoned pieces of metal, rusted with blood. Red to brown to gray then fading away….

Kei abruptly turned, his scythe-guitar clattering against the thinly covered bones on his back. The light in the pits of his eye sockets was burning very brightly. Lyr stopped suddenly, mid-step, and then put his foot back down on the ground, further back from the death god than he had originally intended.

"How did you get here?" the larger god demanded, his eyes flashing.

Lyr blinked, and forced his mind to contemplate the god's words, rather than his harsh body language. How… did he… get… here? Lyr forced his mind to wrap around the question, realizing as he did so that some kind of concept was missing.

He doubted that Kei would be satisfied with the answer of "walking," or "I followed you." He strained his mind, grasping for the correct answer. The "here" that Kei was referring to was not this space on the edge of the valley, where the two of them were standing. It meant something larger than that… something that encompassed not only this side of the valley, and the other side of the valley, but the Orchard and the rocky hills surrounding it and them and the entire realm of the death gods.

But if that were _here_, then where was _there?_ And to suggest that there was a way to get _here_ meant that there was indeed a _there_, as well as…

Lyr struggled as his mind attempted to shut down on him. There was something… something that he had… understood. But this implied that he had once before understood something that now he did not. That there was a before… what was a _before_? Lyr's thoughts were slipping away, fluid and ephemeral, being borne away into some dismal grayness that was keeping him locked here, inside the _here_, inside the single, all-encompassing _now_, and suddenly Lyr knew—he_ knew_—that he wanted to be free.

Lyr stared down at his black toes, searching for the sharp contrast between them and the gray dirt beneath them. Lyr was not gray, not yet. He would not become a gray prisoner of the here and now, even if all he had on his side was his strength of will.

Lyr's mind suddenly blazed like the sun that he had never seen, driving back tendrils of the hazy smoke and thickened fog from his mind. He would not lose, and he would understand all that he wished. There would no longer be things he could not understand, concepts he could not analyze, or puzzles he could not solve. The importance of all the things that had seemed unimportant would return. There was sudden clarity within Lyr now, and he was free, at least internally, from the oppressing gray. Thinking was easy, though he had not understood that it had been hard before. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air when he had not even realized that the air he had been breathing was stale and dry. He returned to Kei's strange question, and allowed himself to consider it.

He was here, in the realm of the death gods.

There had been a time when he had not been here.

But Lyr did not remember not being among the death gods.

So his answer to Kei was quite simple.

"I don't know," Lyr replied to the larger death god. He looked sideways at Kei, and asked a question of his own. If it were possible for Kei to think of things like _here_ and _there_, then perhaps the truth was that he already knew the answer. "How did you get here?" Lyr asked, curious.

Kei's response took much longer than Lyr had anticipated. But he did not mind, and stood patiently, waiting until Kei's skeletal jaw opened once more. "I was here first… but _you_ weren't always here." Kei's speech was careful, as if he had to concentrate on the specific meaning of each word. "Where did you come from?"

Lyr considered this next question, enjoying the freedom at which he could put his mind to it. _Here_ meant the death gods' realm, and _there_ was someplace of _where._ But there were probably multiple places of _there_, and Lyr would have to have, at least originally, come from only one _there,_ or Kei would never have asked him about _where_. And Kei, he had been _here_ first… so he probably did not know much about _there_. Either Kei had never been to _there,_ or he had forgotten what _there_ was like. Obviously the other death god was quite curious, though in an angry fashion, about _there_ or perhaps the rest of _where_. But his anger… that only meant that to Kei, this discussion was important. And Lyr agreed, if only because he felt that speaking to someone who found questions and answers important was something in and of itself important.

"I don't know," Lyr answered truthfully. "Did you come from someplace else? Were you always here?"

"Yes, of course!" Kei yelled, though in truth the volume of his voice was not much higher. It was the tight, tense pose of his arms and the wild glow to his eyes that made it a yell. Lyr wondered why Kei was still angry despite Lyr answering every question thus far with truth, and even contributing his own questions to the discussion. "When did you get here?" Kei asked suddenly, and then his anger seemed to suddenly deflate.

"When…?" Lyr echoed, plunging back into the abstract freedom of his mind. He searched for the answer to _when_… looking among the lingering wisps of grayness for something that could relate to _now_ or _before_.

There were other things, deeply hidden things, that his consciousness raced past in the investigation within his head. The brownish-yellow tinge of old grass… deep chimes of the church bells… Lyr did not know exactly what was in his mind, but there was something there, still partially veiled by the fog. The cool, wet tingle of rain dripping down his face… the soft scent of sugar flitted in and out of his grasp as the fog swirled in his mind. Each moment that was retained within his mind was swiftly recovered by the grayness, but Lyr could not find any reason to hold onto those strange feelings and suggestions of something too large for him to even attempt to comprehend right now. Fingers tapping on white keys… complete darkness with pinpricks of white light…. Lyr could only search for the knowledge of _when_, instinctively understanding that if he tried to find the answers to everything at once, even knowledge of _here _and_ know_ would slide away into unimportance and a vague awareness.

Suddenly, he found what he was looking for. Lyr seized the tip of the idea, and followed it back to the concept, relishing in his victory against the gray world in and around him. He pulled the knowledge free of the grayness, and hoarded it. The fog coalesced into the deeper portions of his mind, as if waiting for his next venture into the gray recesses of his own mind.

For Lyr, _when_ was part of the _now_ and the _before_. These concepts belonged within a larger concept, which should rightfully be called Time_._ But what did _when_ really mean, especially when applied to Kei's question? What was Kei looking for in the answer to that question?

Lyr supposed that Time was, in essence, what passed as one did things.

Therefore Kei was wondering what things Lyr had done.

So Lyr's answer was again simple.

"I walked with you to this spot," he began, chronicling the events of his life from this moment backwards, "I watched two games, I walked from the Orchard, I walked to the Orchard, I was standing on the other side of the valley." Lyr paused, and realized that, according to he could consciously bring to mind, nothing had happened to him before then. He peered over at Kei, wondering what the large death god would do with this information. "I have had that much time."

"But what about before that?" Kei yelled angrily, moving forward. Lyr tried to jump back, startled, but Kei's skeletal fingers gripped the skin on his shoulders, holding too tightly. Lyr was so shocked that he did not try to defend himself or remove himself from the large death god's grasp as Kei lifted him into the air and shook him roughly. The larger death god's bony body rattled with the movement, the guitar-scythe on his back swinging back and forth in time with Lyr's feet. Kei's eyes flashed into a dangerous red.

This display of temper; it made no sense. Such an act was meant to threaten… but threatening a death god was completely pointless. Lyr had nothing to fear… ever.

With that thought, Lyr calmed down considerably, and even wondered why he had been startled and shocked in the first place. He answered Kei's question, his soft voice the same monotone as before. "I don't know."

Lyr knew that Kei would not like his answer, but he had no other to give. It appeared as if Kei did not understand that Lyr had given him the only answers possible. Perhaps Kei was still floundering in the gray fog that had hindered Lyr until Kei had asked him a question. Perhaps he needed Lyr to ask him to the think about things closely. On second thought, perhaps Lyr should not ask, but simply hint so he could avoid Kei's temper. Although Kei's behavior was in no way dangerous (though Lyr was not exactly sure what "dangerous" would even mean), it made Lyr uncomfortable and he wished to avoid physical contact with the dry, white bones of the other death god. The finger bones were pinching him, and although it did not hurt (Lyr did not really understand the concept of "hurt" either), he seemed to instinctively dislike the feeling of being held aloft by Kei.

Fortunately, the other god reined in his anger and in one slow, controlled motion set Lyr back on the ground. His voice, when it returned, had the same quality of his movements. It was tense and controlled, with a hint of anger barely in check. "Do you know Ryuk?"

"Everyone knows Ryuk, Kei," Lyr answered, deliberately using Kei's name to make a point. He and Kei had never spoken to each other or seen each other before this conversation. It seemed odd to have to remind Kei of the simple fact that every death god knew every other death god. On the other hand, perhaps Kei had meant to make a certain distinction. Lyr knew that he had never actually been in the presence of Ryuk, and he would obviously know if he had. Ryuk was the outcast among the gods, a towering black figure with eerie yellow and red eyes, silver charms dangling from his ears and belt… he was something that was hard to mistake for anyone else. "But I have never seen him."

Lyr watched Kei, trying to gauge his reaction to the response. Had Lyr been correct in guessing that Kei meant to ask if Lyr had ever spoken to or seen Ryuk? And if not… was Kei somehow very different from the other death gods? Did Kei have to learn every death god's name and face and habits as he met them? Lyr could not fathom how difficult such a task would be, nor what it would be like to see someone he did not know and had not always known. His mind grappled with the immensity of such a task, and he wondered how long it would take. But no, Kei must have the knowledge, just as Lyr did, because the first thing he had said in Lyr's presence had been, "Why don't you ask Lyr?"

But what if a death god did not have knowledge of another? Was it even possible? And if so, then how long would it take to know everyone? And what kind of answer would suffice to answer that question? _How long would it take?_ Lyr was puzzled for a moment, considering the question. Time must be more than simply the things one has done. This conversation with Kei, it was simply one event, one thing Lyr was doing, but it seemed to take more time than other things Lyr had done, like, for example, walking with Kei to the place where they were currently standing. His dark blue eyes glanced over at the ancient, rusted chains and the tall death god standing across from him, wondering what else Time needed for him to be able to completely understand it.

Kei appeared to be deep in thought, but he lifted his head and looked over at Lyr after a short while. "I think I have met him only once. But I would like to again." There was no trace of anger anymore, only a profound honesty and slight curiosity.

Lyr blinked.

Kei was unsure if he had met the Death God. Did this mean that Kei had a faulty memory? Not necessarily. Lyr looked around, the calm gray of the dirt, the sky, the distant rocks reminding him of the oppressive mist of gray inside his own mind. He looked down at his toes, once again reassured by the contrast of the black against the gray. And then he looked at Kei, who was staring at something that was not in front of him nor very far away. Which meant that Kei seemed to be concentrating on something inside of him.

It seemed to be very much like they were both lost in their own thoughts. Upon inspection, Lyr found his thoughts were not so much a jungle or a thick forest as they were a hazy cloudbank. It was as if Lyr's conscious self were lost in a swirling, overcast sky, occasionally running into sunny spaces and sometimes alpine hillsides, without even knowing which way was up. Lyr felt very lost indeed, each metaphor an allusion to something he could only vaguely comprehend if he did not inspect it too closely. He could hardly follow his own thoughts, and it seemed as if the harder he tried to reach a conclusion, the further from the answer he went, until he could not even remember what he had been trying to discover. The grayness was sending him in circles of varying lengths and diameters.

Lyr gave up for a moment, and stopped the dizzying quest to explore the outer (or were they inner?) reaches of his mind. He realized that he must have been standing there for quite some time… for some_ Time…_ and he tried to follow that line of thought back into the fog, hoping to trace it to the enormous concept of which he had really only scratched the surface.

The small death god closed his eyes for a moment, and felt a feeling similar to floating. He was not exactly focusing on the knowledge he was interested in, instead peering at the hazy shape of the concept from the corner of his mind's eye. And with this peripheral vision, he began to make out the outline. He opened his blue eyes, hoping that the physical act of seeing would help trick whatever was in his own mind that kept him from understanding.

Yes, Time was a large concept, and it involved the things one had done. But if was more than that. It always moved at the same pace, although it was difficult to understand exactly how it moved, because it never seemed to quite _move._ Lyr began a separate train of thought, while his subconscious continued to ponder the problem of Time.

Why did Kei mention Ryuk? Ryuk was an outcast by his own choice as much as he was because most gods disliked him. Kei was nearly the complete opposite, and other gods preferred his company to that of nearly anyone else.

_It was the physical objects concerned with Time that moved. But Time actually seemed to be subjective. Lyr was almost certain that when he was thinking deeply, he did not notice that Time moved at all._

Lyr watched Kei for a moment, seeing the glint of the bejeweled goggles on his head and the dull, chalky gleam of his bones. His eyes were small red lights, and seemed to be very dim in the dark shadows of his eye sockets. What could he possibly have in common with Ryuk?

_Nonetheless, Time always moved, not relative to the beholder, which meant that there had to be some kind of objective way to feel it. No, not feel it. Understand it, perhaps, or even… measure it?_

Yet, they did have something in common after all. Neither Ryuk nor Kei were run-of-the-mill death gods. Each possessed some kind of quality that held them apart from the others; in Kei's case, it was his inherent charisma, in Ryuk's, it was the opposite. But there must be something more than that….

_Measuring time? There was a word that was used to describe this; Deridovely had used it to describe the stakes of the second game: decades. But decades had no meaning to Lyr, it was simply a word, meant to convey some kind of price, meaningful only to those who were too lazy to write down names in their notebooks._

Why was Ryuk important to Kei? That was the question that Lyr should have been asking from the beginning. A meeting between Kei and Ryuk… what would they have talked about? What had Kei learned from looking into those red and yellow eyes, that he had not already known?

_If the measurement of Time known as decades was not meaningful, then it fell to Lyr to make his own measurement. But how could one death god, one individual, be responsible for an objective measurement that could only be witnessed in a subjective manner?_

Lyr looked away from the tall, skeletal death god in front of him, surveying the dismal, gray world. On the far side of the valley, the barren tops of the apple trees were barely visible against the sky. Ryuk was addicted to the apples, wasn't he…. But Kei was not the type to be concerned with Ryuk's addiction. They would have talked about something else, something meaningful.

_Perhaps the key to understanding and measuring Time was that the responsibility fell _not_ to a single death god. Perhaps… with Kei's help, Lyr could find a way to obtain true knowledge of Time? If Lyr and Kei could compare their own relative experiences of the passing of time, then they might discover some secret or formula that would be the mechanism for measuring time._

Again, Lyr wondered what significance Ryuk held. Kei might have asked why Ryuk preferred to be considered an outcast, because Kei seemed to want to know those sorts of things… Or rather, Kei might have asked _when_ Ryuk had become an outcast, or when Ryuk had first come to the world of the death gods…. Lyr felt a surge of triumph. He was certain that Kei's meeting with Ryuk had contained some kind of discussion or allusion to Time.

_And Time was a concept that Lyr was going to uncover. He was going to find out what Time meant in a physical manner. He was going to measure Time. He simply needed Kei's help. And to get Kei's help, he would have to get Kei's interest._

Lyr stared at Kei, who was still not paying him any attention. Kei was so still, he almost blended in with his surroundings, reminding Lyr of a skeletal apple tree, slowly fading into the background….

Suddenly, Lyr's mind was no longer split. Kei's relationship with Ryuk derived some kind of meaning from _when, before, how long, after, now, then_, and all of those other words…. What had previously been two separate ideas converged, and Lyr was left standing on the dusty gray dirt, his dark blue eyes staring across the small space to Kei's lanky form.

"I think that it would take me longer to walk to the Orchard than it would for you to walk to the Orchard," Lyr said carefully, deciding that such an act would best exemplify both the subjective and objective aspects of time in a physical context.

If he and Kei were to each walk to the Orchard, they would arrive at the same spot from the same spot traveling the same distance and the same route. But they would not arrived at the same time, given that they each traveled at their own normal pace. He looked down, twisting to see his own footprints leading to where he stood. He had certainly taken more steps and moved faster than usual to keep up with Kei when he had followed the death god out to this spot.

"That…" Lyr began slowly, his blue eyes following the footsteps back towards the valley and the crowds of death gods gambling away their lives and the lives of humans. "That is time."

He turned back to look at Kei, and the taller death god was staring at him with an expression Lyr recognized as the one Kei had, for a brief moment, shown when Lyr first spoke to him. The one that meant Kei viewed Lyr as someone he had never known.

"You're not going to teach me the game, are you?" Lyr asked, a slight smile curving across his lips. For some reason, he was pleased to see Kei look a little startled.

Then Kei's features slid into a somewhat predatory smile. "No, I'm not. But I'll teach you something else." Kei hesitated for a moment, and then continued as if he had decided something. "We're going to the Orchard."

Lyr nodded, smiling. He looked to the Orchard for a moment, and then turned back to Kei. The other death god had already started moving towards the Orchard, taking long strides. Lyr scurried to catch up. Although he wanted to show Kei his experiment, he knew that the larger god had something in mind, and was horribly impatient. Lyr had best follow him quickly, and save the time-measuring experiment for later.

Dusty clouds lingered in the gray air as Lyr's black feet pattered across the ground, following Kei's skeletal specter towards the claw-like spires of the apple trees.

--L--

"No, thank you," Lyr declined the proffered apple. He had already passed it when he had visited the Orchard earlier, and he still had no desire to eat the tiny, wrinkled fruit.

"Why not?" Kei asked, still holding the apple towards him with a bony hand. The apple was a shade darker, slightly closer to gray than Kei's fingers.

Lyr wondered what Kei was trying to get at. They both knew that neither were interested in eating apples, and were not inclined to become addicted like some of the other death gods. "They don't taste very good." Lyr kept his answer succinct.

"Have you ever eaten one?" Kei continued his interrogation, and Lyr thought he was finally on the verge of understanding why he had started it.

Kei was interested in time as a physical property; he wanted to understand the past. Kei wanted to know what things had already, actually, really _happened_, rather than things that simply _seemed_ to have happened.

"No," Lyr answered. This was the distinction Kei was looking for, between the _have don_e and the _have not done_. If Lyr's suspicion were correct, then Kei's next question would be…

"Then how do you know?" Kei's smooth tenor rippled beneath the dusty gray branches, exactly as Lyr imagined it would.

"Everyone knows," Lyr answered quickly, his mind continuing to anticipate Kei's questions. He was formulating responses before Kei even began the questions, quick slivers of thought dipping into the fog and jetting out before getting caught.

"If they taste bad and everyone knows this, then why do some death gods eat apples?" Kei asked, his words coming faster as he became more impatient.

"I suppose they don't mind the taste," Lyr responded instantly. He felt the edges of a smile on his white lips, and found himself staring at Kei with a feeling of something like pleasure. He watched as the larger death god tensed as if he were about to move violently. He did not, but it was obvious the god did not like how the interrogation was proceeding. Kei did not like to be out-thought, apparently. Or did he simply think that Lyr was giving him oversimplified answers?

"Does this apple look right?" Kei tried, his voice taking on a demanding quality. The question made Lyr pause.

Now what was _that_ supposed to mean? What would a "wrong" apple look like? Kei held the apple towards him, so its gray, slightly-peeling surface oozed rather than reflected the dim light around them. The apple seemed perfectly normal to Lyr, and seemed to behave in a normal, apple-y way. He could see nothing wrong with it, so it had to look right.

"Yes." He nodded.

"Why?" Kei continued eagerly. He seemed to lean in a little bit, the tattered edges of his clothing swaying slightly. What did this have to do with Kei's interest in what actually happened? Lyr was curious as to how this related.

He considered Kei's question. He knew Kei was not going to be satisfied of the simple answer that "it was not wrong." If Lyr used that as his answer, then Kei would simply ask him what made an apple wrong, and their conversation might travel in that circular way for infinity. (_Infinity_, yet another word to add to his growing list of things related to time. He filed it away and continued to focus on Kei's question.) The apple was gray, like everything else. It was a part of the landscape, but it also seemed to embody whatever it was that made their world the way it was.

Lyr saw the small, withered, apple as a pathetic metaphor for their existence. They were tiny, shrunken existences sprouting from a shriveled, dead tree of… something. Lyr pushed his imagination further, following the metaphor. They were graying, fading beings, plucked from a long-dead, ancient tree of… knowledge.

Lyr knew instinctively that this concept was important. So he pretended it was not. There was something dangerous in that information, something that the gray world was desperately protecting. Now was not the time to delve into it.

He quickly refocused on the apple. The apple was a tiny, shrunken fruit that sprouted from a shriveled, dead tree. Which meant that the apple looked...

"It looks dead," Lyr told Kei. His words rang with the certain finality and confidence found only in truth. And Lyr wondered why he had never really known that the apples were dead before. He avoided thinking about it, and instead acted like he had known this all along.

Kei grinned. "If this apple is dead," he began, his voice growing in volume and flair, "then what does an apple that is alive look like?"

Lyr sent his mind to find the knowledge of the live apple, and was suddenly swallowed by the fog. He forced himself to look down, to watch his toes, to stare hard and concentrate on the clear black edges, but this time the dust from his walk to the Orchard was still clinging to his feet, turning them into a lighter black, fading them into pale, making them gray… Lyr's eyes unfocused, and he realized he was staring inward, into a pool of gray mist. His conscious self was trying to catch up with the fastest flickerings of his thought, and he had already been swallowed by the fog.

This time, he did not know if it would let him go. A small part of him wondered what he was doing, personifying the fog with a malicious intent, or any intent at all. Yet he felt like the fog knew things. It knew that there was something he was purposefully avoiding, but only so he could analyze it later. It knew that he was trying not to think about the apple tree, and the dead tree of knowledge, the apple tree of death….

Lyr felt the grayness tighten, oppressive and dulling, across his mind….

Lyr blinked, and for that instant, he relinquished all thought.

The tiny death god opened his eyes, the tall, skeletal figure of Kei and the narrow, twisting structures of the trees imprinting slowly on his retinas. The ground was a tone slightly darker than the sky, and Kei was holding a normal, dead apple in his hand.

"I don't know," Lyr responded, keeping his mind in strict control. Kei had asked about something he called "live apples" but Lyr had no idea what they would look like.

"Why not?" Kei asked, his voice taking on a desperate note. Lyr forced his mind not to go any further than it was supposed to. He needed to think simple thoughts and give simple answers. He needed to stop being so confrontational with the fog, or at this rate, it would win. Now was the time to retreat a short distance.

"I don't think that is something everybody knows," Lyr answered, hedging around the real one he wanted to give.

"I know," Kei replied. He appeared to be somewhat distressed, but was losing his drive.

Lyr could not help himself. Perhaps there was a way to get what he wanted without taking on the fog directly. "What does an apple that is alive look like?" Lyr asked innocently, keeping his mind on the same wavelength as his voice.

Lyr suppressed the feeling of triumph as Kei opened his mouth to respond immediately. "It's red and ripe, round and… juicy," the large god said, hesitating and dropping his voice to whisper before reaching the last word. Lyr was nodding with him, pretending that he was not subconsciously laughing at the fog as it withered away from a tiny portion of his mind.

"You are right," Lyr said, smiling as his consciousness brushed feathery-light against this new knowledge. The fog seemed to be unconcerned with knowledge that came from another death god. "And I think they are sweet," Lyr continued thoughtfully, easing his mind away from the subject before the fog could catch him taking more than he was supposed to.

Kei suddenly froze with his red eyes directed at Lyr. "How do you know?" he demanded, but this time his tenor oozed control.

"You told me…" Lyr said, trailing off and pretending with all his might that Kei had indeed told him that. "How do you know?" he asked, hoping Kei could give him a very good answer.

"No, I mean about the apples being sweet," Kei hinted loudly, leaning closer.

"It only makes sense," Lyr stated defensively, wondering if it truly did.

"No, it doesn't! None of this makes sense! Why do death gods eat apples?!" Kei yelled, this time taking a full step closer, apparently fueled by his emotions. Was that how Kei managed to fight against the fog? Sheer willpower and fierce emotions?

"They are addictive." Lyr knew the simple statement would continue to rile Kei, which was now precisely the point.

"You're missing my point!" Kei held out the apple and shook it as if the pitiful fruit were the one at fault. "Why do we begin eating them in the first place?!"

Lyr seized on the chance to channel Kei's anger into something potentially useful. "You tell me," he said, keeping his voice a careful—and apparently irritating—monotone. "You were always here."

"No I wasn't!" Kei replied angrily, and then suddenly paused. His words sunk into the silence between them.

Lyr's eyes opened a fraction wider. Kei had not always been here like had said? Kei had lied? Or what seemed far more probable, Kei had not _known_ that he had not always been here.

"I think there was a time when none of us were here." Kei's voice was low, and quiet, but it still managed to echo around them.

"How many times do you think you could have walked to…" Lyr began, eager to get back to the subject of measuring time. He glanced around the Orchard and to the valley down below where crowds of death gods were gambling. His dark blue eyes came to rest on a rocky crag on the far side of the valley, and he continued his sentence as he pointed at it with a white finger. "…that rock and back between now and the time when there was no one?"

"I'm not sure," Kei responded, following Lyr's gaze and the direction his finger was pointing regardless. "I have always seen others here."

Lyr paused a moment, clearing his mind carefully lest the fog return. After a moment, he spoke. "Then you were probably not the first here." If Lyr had arrived after Kei, then they probably all had arrived at different times, meaning that there had to be someone else who was here first. He let his mind drift over the idea, pretending that it had no real meaning or importance.

"Then where were we before now?" Kei asked, although Lyr was not paying him very much attention.

"I think the King of Death was the first one here," Lyr stated, staring out over the valley, towards the towering pile of rocks, embedded here and there with minute, rusted scythes and bloodied chains. The throne of the King of Death. He refocused his eyes on Kei, and answered his question. "Maybe we just _weren't_ before." It was a possibility. But as he said it, Lyr felt that it was wrong.

"But you can't just get something from nothing," Kei retorted, throwing his arms into the air angrily.

That was easy enough to say, Lyr mused. But if Kei were right to assume that something could not come from nothing, then he was really posing a much larger question to the tiny, black god.

"Where else is there?" Lyr watched Kei very closely as the skeletal god abruptly stopped his frustrated gesturing. Though this was not the real question that Lyr wanted. Perhaps in time, he would ask Kei not _where_ else, but _what_ else. The real root of the problem, Lyr gently realized, was that second question. The root of all of their problems.

For Lyr, and probably for Kei as well, there were things unknown that should be known, and things known that should not be known.

Lyr had not known about _before_ and _after_, _here_ and _there_, but he should have known. At the same time, now that he knew, he was aware that he was not supposed to know those concepts.

Lyr knew about dead apples... and knew he should know, but also was not supposed to know about red, round, juicy, sweet apples.

Lyr did not know about what else there was, and was quite sure that he was not supposed to find out.

His eyes were drawn, almost magnetically, towards Kei's fiery red ones. The god suddenly seemed taller, more imposing, his face darker, although in truth nothing had changed. Kei lowered his pale gray jawbone into a wide, sharp smile, and uttered three words.

"The Human Realm."

--L--

* * *

_Thanks for reading despite the terribly long wait. Writers' block is a... well, I'm sure many of you know. I hope you thought it was worth the wait. Please review, and don't forget to read anja-chan's chapter. And if you just read hers, I hope you reviewed it too. We appreciate you, readers!_


	4. Chapter 3

**AfterLife**

**Chapter Three**

--L--

Lyr stared down through the viewing hole, and watched the humans drink their coffees and eat their muffins. They sat at tables underneath green umbrellas, sipping what they called "grande vanilla lattes" or "tall white mocha frappaccinos with whip", reading the newspaper, unaware that they were being watched. Their cars slid past the seating area, drivers keeping their eyes focused on the stoplight at the corner. The morning scene came complete with a pair of joggers pumping past, down the sidewalk and around last-night's puddles.

How familiar it all seemed. How eerily nostalgic. Lyr attempted to keep such thoughts from his consciousness, but every now and then they slipped through. He brought a white finger up to his face and began absently poking at his lower lip.

Jessica Stevens, 57269842, exited the café with a grande coffee in hand and a toss to her blonde hair. She wore a creamy tan blouse and black pants and was crowned with a pair of dark sunglasses. Lyr watched her, wondering what she could offer his starving intellect. Probably nothing.

Kevin Rhindemein, 47412903, stared at her from behind a round table, ignoring Elena Rhindemein, 68003102, seated beside him. She clutched her coffee with manicured nails on waspishly thin hands, and her brow was permanently creased from worry. Her hair was red and wispy, and floated free from its headband like some kind of strange, bloodied halo. Kevin Rhindemein looked back to her and then picked up the paper on the table in front of them.

Lyr considered opening his Death Note, and scribbling something in it. He wondered what actions the humans would take. They were so oblivious to their mortality, carefree in their flirtations with death. It was strange that Kevin Rhindemein could not know his wife was too close to death for any of the gods to bother writing her name.

Lyr's head tilted slightly as he contemplated the weirdness that was the Human Realm. How strange it would be to come into existence knowing that one's existence is temporary. That one is generally unnecessary. Expendable.

Of course, some humans were exceptions. Not that any of them had been able to escape death—there were no exceptions there—but some of them were less expendable than others. Some almost achieved a faint glimmer of necessity.

Lyr tugged at his lip, and clicked a fingernail against his teeth. He had the feeling he was forgetting something again, but suppressed it. Instead, he wondered how humans could possible tell each other apart so well, when they could not see each other's names. Compared to the variety of Death Gods, the humans all looked alike. Such thoughts were simple, and easy to entertain.

Jessica Stevens left his field of vision as Vernon Asdin, 23985046, entered it. The man walked down the slick sidewalk towards the coffee shop, nodding to anyone whose face came close to suggesting eye contact. He wore clothing that might have been popular ten or twenty years ago.

How did Lyr know what had been popular ten or twenty years ago? He quickly emptied his mind, and began anew his calm surveillance of the scene slowly unfolding before him. The humans were going about the usual activities of a bright morning.

Lyr sat more on his heels, and noticed movement to his left. He looked away from the pool of shadows and light that showed him a piece of the Human Realm, and was confronted by a tall, skeletal Death God with jeweled goggles atop his skull. Kei, as expected.

"What's it like?" Kei asked, peering over Lyr's shoulder into the viewing hole.

Lyr hesitated before answering. "I'm not sure yet." Certainly there was more to the Human Realm than what he could see in so short a time, and he was certain he had not been crouching here for too long. The lifespans of the humans had not changed.

Then again, Lyr and Kei had discovered somewhere else, which was a huge step as far as Lyr was concerned. And while he gazed down upon the humans, keeping his focus to simple observation, the gray fog kept to the back of his mind, unconcerned. Furthermore, as far as Lyr could tell, in the Human Realm there was color (although it still felt strangely muted) and presumably red, round, juicy, sweet, _living_ apples.

"I'm going to the Human Realm," Kei stated suddenly. Lyr's head snapped to the left so he could put all of his attention on the other god. Kei smiled.

"Me, too." Lyr had decided the instant he heard Kei say it. Perhaps he could get away from the fog entirely? He kept that thought small, distant, pretended it had never happened.

"Do you know how?" Kei asked, his voice a strange mixture of gentleness and a sneer. Lyr assumed that this was because Kei already knew, and thought that Lyr did not. Or… had Kei already gone to the Human Realm, and had just refrained from inviting Lyr during his first exploration? Lyr would not put it past the other god, to go first and therefore have more experience, and to avoid letting Lyr (or anyone else) see him in what could potentially be a moment of weakness.

"There is an entrance…" Lyr said in response, searching his mind for the innate knowledge of locations in the Death God Realm.

"Yes, there is. I know where it is, and the conditions for using it." Kei sounded too smug, and it rubbed Lyr the wrong way. Lyr ignored his distaste for Kei's arrogance, and simply continued the conversation. If he wanted to learn something without facing the fog, then he could annoy the arrogant god to get his information, which would be extremely satisfying.

"What are the conditions?" He knew where the rocky stairway that spiraled down to the shifting darkness of the entrance lay.

"When a Death God stalks a human with the intention to kill them, they can stay in the Human Realm for up to 82 hours before killing them," Kei told him. Lyr wondered where he got this information.

"How do you know?" Lyr asked, his voice a note darker than usual. He looked back at the graying sand between his toes, not wishing to look at Kei any longer. Although he liked the Death God more than, well, other Death Gods, he was strangely uncomfortable with the idea that Kei knew more than him about something they should both have knowledge about.

"I read it in the User's Guide." Kei's answer was surprisingly simple. And obvious.

Lyr looked back to him. "Oh." His shoulders slumped a little as he grudgingly admitted that Kei's idea to check the User's Guide had been a better idea than staring down at the Human Realm. Kei had learned something useful… and Lyr had not. He decided it was a good thing the two of them were working together. He resolved to put up with the other god's ego.

"I'm going now," Kei said loudly as he turned and began walking away. Lyr jumped up and scurried across the sand to the tall god, not wishing to be left behind. It was not that he needed Kei to get there, it was simply that if they were both going to the same place, they might as well go together.

He made it a point to walk next to the skeletal god, taking two strides for his every one, rather than patter along in his wake. To Kei, he would be a partner, not a follower.

--L--

After they had left the desert, walked across the valley, and hiked up the jagged, charcoal crags of the hillside, they entered the cave. Echoes from the valley below softened. Chains rusted from old blood hung from the walls and wound around some of the larger stalactites and stalagmites. An abandoned scythe lay in a corner. The two Death Gods passed these, and when the cave narrowed suddenly, the smooth floor abruptly changing into worn steps, Kei's long legs took him in front, and Lyr was forced to follow. It did not sit well with him, though he pretended it meant nothing.

The cave opened up again, forming an open pit with the steps hewn from the rocky walls leading them ever downward. Tendrils of light rose from the inky depths below them, shimmering tantalizingly, as if urging them onward.

Lyr trailed a ghostly hand along the edge of the wall, listening to a sound like rushing air mixed with the tinkling of bells and the thuds of Kei's boots on the rock. Lyr's footsteps were nearly silent.

The noise increased as they continued downward, as did the intensity of the light. Rather than sparkling strands, the light became a harsh glow. Lyr turned his face towards the wall when he took the next step, avoiding the penetrating glare of the light. It was much brighter than anything he had encountered before, and stung his eyes. He supposed it had turned out for the best that he was following Kei, because the god managed to block at least some of the light. The wind increased to a roar, and Lyr could feel it pass through his black hair, ruffling it gently, and then becoming more insistent. Cracks and booms exploded from the bright pool below them, some of them seeming to rumble throughout the cavern, resonating in his ribcage.

The trail suddenly left the wall, and Lyr turned his eyes to the ragged scythe on Kei's back. The two gods stood above the pit, on a small ledge.

Kei looked at Lyr from over his shoulder, his glowing eyes flaring in his enthusiasm. "Wait until I completely disappear before you enter," he said, and Lyr instantly disliked the position of follower. He had no doubt that Kei understood himself to be the leader after Lyr had completed the simple, almost unconscious act of walking behind him down the stairs, and he thought it his business to tell Lyr what to do.

Lyr nodded, however, understanding that he had no User's Guide, and that he had no way of knowing if what Kei was telling him was for his own safety or for some other purpose.

Kei turned back to the howling crater of light, spread his wings in a rush, and lifted himself off the ledge before folding his wings and dropping down.

The wind suddenly increased and the roaring grew louder, echoing in the subterranean hollow. The pit sparked and released torrents of light upwards, crackling alternatively with waves of intense heat and extreme cold, and then settled down into a loud, vibrating purr.

Lyr moved to the edge carefully, and forced himself to look down, once, and be blinded. It was nearly painful, yet… he took a step back, and blinked rapidly, his eyes tearing a little.

Taking a deep breath, he unfurled his black, feathery wings, and let the wind carry him upward a bit, fighting against the current that threatened to push him up and out. He floated above the pit, and then closed his eyes and held his breath, curling his wings close. He fell.

The world pulled at him, tugging on his wings and feet, clutching his hair and hands, and then came an absolute void of feeling. Sound increased to an incomprehensible roar and then faded. Light flashed across his closed eyelids, and then stilled. Slowly, the world, a new world, came into focus, spreading gently across his senses.

Lyr stood in a field of grass, the tall tips of green waving gently in a breeze that carried the briny, stiff scent of the ocean. The sun was high overhead, deep in a blue sky dotted by fluffy white clouds. The wind caressed his face, ruffling silkily through his wings. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, his arms, his chest, and the cool tingle of shadows cast by the grass on his legs. When he curled his toes, they grabbed bits of green. To his left were thousands of tiny white flowers, flooding out across the field. To his right was an old tree, its wide branches full of broad, sheltering leaves. Above, the sky. Below, the earth.

It was the strangest sensation bubbling up from within, inflating inside him like some kind of balloon. Lyr had never felt so calm nor so happy, and had never experienced both at the same time.

It was as if he _knew_ this grass… those white flowers… the tall, welcoming tree.

Lyr felt it somewhere down in the core of his being. He _belonged_ here.

His dark blue eyes swiveled this way and that, and he turned in a tilted circle until he saw the stone buildings in the distance. One had a tall spire and from it echoed the chime of deep bells.

Something within him resonated with the ringing of the bells, though he knew he had never heard such a sound before.

He spread his wings out wide, catching bits of air and allowing him to float gently above the grass, towards the tree and the cluster of buildings. The base of the tree was covered in white petals, and fresh leaves were sprouting from the old branches.

Lyr paused, allowing the air to move through his wings, and he gently settled back onto the earth, his black toes landing in a swirl of white petals. He looked up at the graying branches of the tree, his eyes picking out the vibrant leaves and pinpricks of sharply green buds. He felt distinctly removed from this process of life, but at the same time, Lyr was strangely fascinated.

He reached a finger out to trace a limb, wondering. Was this… an _apple_ tree?

Would the apples be red?

He smiled to himself, looking down from the branches. He might have to come back here, to this place where the sun shone and drove away the fog. The grass here was green, and the trees were alive. It was, he mused, probably spring.

With a rush of excitement, Lyr lifted off the ground, sailing through the tree's branches and towards the sky. If he wanted to stay here, he needed to find someone, a human, and follow him or her with the intent to kill.

Lyr shifted his wings so the wind could take him to the buildings, choosing the tallest one as his first place to find a suitable human. He floated ahead of the breeze, spiraling down around the spire, through the rooftop, and down into a large, dimly lit room with rows upon rows of dark benches. There was an altar at the front of the room, below a circular, stained-glass window. No one was inside the church.

Lyr glided out through the heavy wooden doors at the front, out into a freshly mowed lawn. It too, was empty, so he tried another building. There were four in the small complex, including the church he had just vacated.

Lyr chose the one by the wrought-iron gate, with the black car parked in front. The water in the fountain in front sparkled and gurgled in the sunlight. It caught the light in a way nothing in the Realm of the Death Gods ever did. Not that the light itself was similar. Here, the light was brighter, and somehow purer. There were no muted traces of gray sidling sluggishly alongside the flashes of clear light.

He floated above the graveled drive and up over the concrete steps. Passing through the door, he encountered a dimly-lit hallway, with a deep carpet of cream and gold patterned over wine red. To Lyr's disappointment, there was no one there either.

He drifted towards the nearest door, listening for any sound other than the low echo of the wind outside. Lyr glided to the next door, and suddenly the hallway erupted into noise.

A door opened, spilling children into the hallway with a flood of light behind them. Lyr lifted into the air, startled, with his dark eyes wide to take in the sudden movements, the bubbly laughter, the bright smiles, the downcast glances, and the bored tones of small voices. Their giggles and flashing bits of jewelry caught him off guard. Their impersonations of a lecturer and heavy sighs of frustration washed right through him, reminding him that his existence to them was even less than the walls he swept through were to him. There was something indescribably real thrumming through them, just underneath their pink skin or just behind their bright eyes.

It was life, and something Lyr was completely unprepared to meet.

Lifespans spun away towards decades above two girls as they considered getting their hair cut, and boys with large red numbers resting like gleaming laurels punched each other in the arm, determined to prove who was strongest. A girl with dark hair, nose in a paperback, marched away from the rest of the children to enjoy her private world. They were vibrant, bursting with youth. Their heads passed through his dangling feet, and they remained blissfully ignorant of the death that hung above them.

It was so different from watching from the Death God Realm. Being among the humans was an entirely new experience. The children and the noise accompanying them filtered away down the hallway, turning to race up the stairs or flooding out onto the lawn, and Lyr was suddenly alone again.

He hung in the hallway, motionless, listening to the receding echoes of the doors shutting and the faint noises of the children at play outside. There was something there… something… missing…. His thoughts trailed away, petering out into the vast, empty void within him. Lyr frowned, looking down at the patterns in the carpet, his mind falling blank.

With a start, the Death God remembered that he was only allowed in the Human Realm when on a mission. He stretched his wings, and beat them once, sending him gliding down the hallway after the children. He should at least pick one and follow it around….

Lyr frowned to himself as he caught up with the Rianna Greeber, 9874086, eyes still glued to a book. Her feet had taken her as far as a staircase, but not up it. He looked at her, but suddenly realized that he could easily find a much better target. Rianna seemed like the kind of child who stayed in her room, and Lyr wanted someone who would indirectly show him this world and all of its wonders.

He let the air currents pull him further down the hallway, and he slid outside the building and into the open air. Other children were running in circles or chasing each other on the lawn, caught up in the energy of spring.

Lyr watched them as the breeze lifted him higher, and he adjusted his wings. A child would give him a lot of life, and his Death God instincts approved of his choice to circle lower and study the group of children for an appropriate target. He would stalk a child for a few days and then return to the Death God Realm chock full of stolen life, and it would be a long time before he had to… return.

Lyr was blown sideways as a gust of wind caught him unprepared (and rather tangible) and lost in his thoughts. He adjusted to a more incorporeal form and sailed airily through a wall, quite suddenly finding a suitable target. Directly beneath him was an older man, his remaining lifespan short enough to allow Lyr to return to the Human Realm more or less when he so desired.

Roger Ruvie, 50082091, patted a small child on the head and then walked down the hallway, unaware of the black and white god of death that followed him silently down the long corridor and into his study. He had slightly less than 82 hours to live, and to show Lyr what he could of the Human Realm.

--L--

Roger Ruvie's first act was to climb the stairs at the end of the hallway, all the way to the highest floor, the fourth level, and proceed to open the door. It was locked, so by the time Roger Ruvie had entered into the hallway beyond it, Lyr had already drifted through the wall and was speculating on the meaning of the black, Gothic-style letters on the doors.

The furthest door on the left had a large L, the one across from it and the one on its right both sported Ms, and the diagonal had an N. There were two other doors, one bearing an O and the other bare of lettering. Lyr had the feeling that there was some kind of great significance here, that the letters were more than simply _letters_, that they represented something far greater…. But perhaps the meaning was only consequential to humans.

Roger Ruvie immediately went to the door with the N, rapping his knuckles against it thrice. Lyr waited behind the human, and wondered if there was even anyone on the other side of the door. There was no reply to Roger Ruvie's knock.

But, after several long moments, the door finally creaked inward, revealing a swath of several inches and a pale face set with black eyes. Nate River, 80345728.

"Yes, Roger?" the boy asked, leaning on the door from the inside in a way that made it clear he wished to be back at whatever he had been doing earlier. His eyes rolled in his head as if they were particularly sensitive to gravity, his gaze wandering along the floor.

"Near," Roger Ruvie replied heavily, and it took Lyr a moment to realize that this was the term that Roger Ruvie was using to address the boy, "you have considered the American case?"

"I have." The boy's facial expression did not change.

"And?" It struck Lyr as strange that this older man was behaving in a manner somehow subservient to this oddly pale child. Normal human behavior was not present in this interaction… and Lyr wondered how he instinctively knew this.

"I wish to be in America on Thursday." Nate River finally lifted his eyes to Roger Ruvie's face, and gave him a brief and mirthless smile. Its effect was chilling, but strangely enough, Lyr felt that the expression suited the child. "That is when we will catch the target." Nate River leaned back, and the door closed with an audible _click_.

Roger Ruvie's only response was to sigh, and turn away from the door. But instead of turning back towards the stairs, he turned towards the other rooms. Lyr landed onto the floor, folded his wings into nothing, and walked behind the human. Roger Ruvie moved to one of the doors labeled with an M, and Lyr slipped through the wall moments before the man knocked.

The room was shockingly dark. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, sheltering the mass of cables of wires taped to the floors, the walls, the ceiling from the crystal daylight. Lyr's eyes adjusted swiftly, the blue pupils widening to nearly fill his eye sockets. Two children, a boy and a girl, no… two boys, Mihael Keehl, 34569832, and Mail Jeevas, 52983473, were startled by the loud rapping on the door, and immediately began shoving a small object made of black plastic underneath the pillow on the motherboard-adorned bed.

"What is it?" Mail Jeevas called to the door, rubbing a hand through his red hair and sliding a finger underneath the rims of the large pair of goggles on his face. He shuffled towards the door as Roger Ruvie's muffled voice came from beyond it.

"You've received another call from the ICPO," he began, and then ceased as Mail Jeevas opened the door. Mihael Keehl seemed to be sulking in his leather ensemble on the edge of the bed, booted feet propped up on an old gray monitor, hands fiddling with an empty box of cigarettes. For a child, he was certainly unusual.

"Oh, uh, okay," Mail Jeevas said at the door, yawning, and turning to look back at Mihael Keehl. He stepped back into the dark room, not exactly in a way that invited Roger Ruvie to enter. It was more like allowing the old man the privilege of looking into the shadowed room and trying to pick out the leather-clad boy from the surrounding piles of blinking green and orange lights.

"As I just said, you've received another call from the ICPO. They are waiting to hear back from you about the Munich murders. Are you going to take the case or not?" Roger Ruvie's voice hardened as he asked the question. Apparently, Roger Ruvie was not fond of these boys.

A short laugh, something like a contemptuous bark, snapped across the room as Mihael Keehl unfolded from his position on the bed, tossing the cigarette box aside. The boy walked towards the door, his voice leading the way. Lyr was at first slightly intimidated, thinking back to how Kei had lifted him off the ground and shook him, but then realized, like he had back then, that Lyr never had anything to fear.

"No need to be so nit-picky, Roger." He leaned against the doorframe, pulling out a bar of chocolate from his tight pants. "You say the ICPO is waiting to see whether L will take the case or not?" He took a vicious bite of the chocolate as Lyr pondered his words. This was the "M" door, but Mihael Keehl had obvious referred to himself as "L." Then who was behind the door with the large, gothic L?

For some reason, it seemed like Lyr should know the answer to that question. He decided that he would go find out.

"If you want to know whether L is going to take the case," Mihael Keehl continued as Lyr floated back through the wall, and around Roger Ruvie's rounded back. "You should take a look at this." Lyr looked back to see the blond boy handing the old man a large, yellow envelope. "We've already solved it, Roger."

Lyr turned and made his way to the door with the black L, painted on with sharp lines of contrast against the pure white of the door. The vertical side of the L had what seemed to be hooks on one side, smooth on the other. For a moment, Lyr stared at the door, and the symbol on it.

A strange fascination was overcoming him, drawing him towards this door, with this symbol, and towards whoever lay beyond it. Lyr blinked, once, and took a step forward, his black and white body phasing through the white and black door with a striking contrast forming when the opposite colors met.

The room was filled with a thick layer of dust and a slowly heightening sense of entrapment. There was a bed in the corner, the dark blue dust cover looking as if it had been undisturbed for years. Cobwebs adorned the corners. The room was so still that the streaming spring light from the window was undisturbed by any movement of the air, was free from dancing dust motes. A clock lay by the bed, its red numbers glowing listlessly, like the lifespan of a human on a deathbed, waiting for the last few digits to count down to zero.

An old bureau stood against a wall, the dark wood turning gray from the heavy dust. The carpet looked dusty and gray, and now that he thought about it, the cobwebs in the high corners of the room made even the dark corners gray. The lamp on the small desk sported a tiny string of cobweb that anchored it to the flat surface of the desk, and the ensemble had probably once been, if not beautiful, than at least tasteful. Now it simply looked gray. Unused. Dead.

There was no peace in this room. Certainly it was still, but it felt like the stillness that inhabited the Death God Realm. Lyr felt that this room would have the same muted echoes if he tried to make a sound. And he stepped backwards, suddenly afraid that this room, the room full of endless dust and so backwards from the rest of the rooms here because it lacked the one component—life—that made this world so very beautiful compared to the Realm of the Death Gods, that this room would swallow him like the gray fog, and turn him into a blank, empty being of gray dust.

He slipped through the door, and found himself staring at the strangely enticing image of the L. He turned away, focusing his blue eyes elsewhere, finding Roger Ruvie further down the hallway, knocking on the door with the painted O.

"Just a minute!" came a girl's voice, and then the door swung inward, and a young girl's breathless dark face poked out. "I was just working on the Egyptian so-called suicides," she explained, reaching down to scoop up a chunky calico cat as it tried to escape from the room. Lyr unfurled his wings and drifted closer.

"That's good to hear, Orphan," Roger kindly addressed the girl, although the red letters above her head formed Omisha Jindal, 78212943. But perhaps she simply lacked parents.

"Kismet's been very helpful so far," Omisha Jindal noted with a smile, turning back to look inside her room. Lyr floated past the open doorway, and saw no one that claimed the name Kismet, but was surprised by the room nonetheless.

Rectangular sheets of paper, shiny magazine articles, scraps of newspaper, and collections of photographs blanketed the carpet. A pile of thick markers lay at the center, in the only spot where the carpet was visible. It looked as if the markers were used to draw an interlocking web of colorful lines across the papers and photos, as if literally drawing some kind of conclusion from the mass of data.

Four cats were sleeping in various positions of comfort on the bed, a gray one flopped on its back, a long-haired white and gray one curled by the pillow, a Siamese rolling and stretching at the foot of the bed, and a large orange cat with its paws hanging off the side. Lyr glanced back at Omisha Jindal, and eyed the calico's hind legs as they swung back and forth underneath the girl's arms.

Eerily enough, the cat's yellow eyes appeared to be directed at him, although he was fairly sure it was impossible for any living creature to see him.

Roger Ruvie then distracted the animal by placing a large hand on its multi-colored head, and spoke to Omisha Jindal again. "Well, keep up the good work. You've come so far in so short a time, you know."

"So have you, Roger. You're almost like Watari," the child replied with a smile, and Lyr was again confused by the odd relationships these children seemed to have with their elders. She sounded so precocious, yet… at the same time, Lyr wondered why anyone would treat children as anything other than small adults. They often seemed to be smarter and quicker to learn than people who were grown. He shook his head, and then began absently chewing on his thumb as Roger Ruvie excused himself, closed the door, and began making his slow way back down the hall, through the door, and down the stairs.

Lyr wondered what significance the fourth floor held, and why the letters on the doors matched the children's names (assuming that Mail Jeevas and Mihael Keehl had simply been a room belonging to one of them while the other room with the M belonged to the other). But the children used different names than the ones they were given, which was decided unusual, although the nicknames happened to begin with the same letter as their true names. And they took up a certain portion of the alphabet. L, M, M, N, O…. If there had only been one M, then Lyr would have been certain something decidedly odd was going on. As it was, he only had a nagging sense of unease tinged with an uncanny familiarity with the whole place. Lyr slowed while gliding down the stairs behind Roger Ruvie, his mind pondering the gray room with the L on the door.

Who had lived there? Certainly a child whose name had begun with L, but had gone by a different name. But where was that child now?

For some reason, perhaps because of the silence that had hung in the room like an ominous shadow, Lyr was convinced the L child was already dead.

He turned his blue eyes to Roger Ruvie as he continued taking the stairs slowly, using the handrail. The old man paused on the landing of the second floor, and looked out the window at the bright spring afternoon as it faded towards evening.

"I suppose we're all just trying to live up to your expectations…" he said softly, looking out towards the distant tree where Lyr had first arrived in the Human Realm. The old man smiled briefly, then heaved a sigh and turned to the last flight of stairs.

Lyr remained at the window, looking out to the flowering tree. What was going on in this strange collection of weathered, stone buildings? Who were these people, these children with letters on their doors, who lived behind a locked door on the top floor?

And the tree with the beautiful white blossoms… was it an _apple_ tree?

Was this where Lyr was to find the fruit of knowledge, and learn the truth of the _here_ and _there_, the _then_ and _now_? Was it possible that, somewhere among these humans, he could learn the answers to his questions?

Lyr was determined to find out, with the 82 hours he had been given by the rules of the Death Gods. When Roger Ruvie was dead, he would return to the World of the Death Gods with more than a longer lifespan.

* * *

_Sorry for the super-long wait, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please be sure to keep up with anja-chan's work as well. Thanks for your support, and please read and review!_


End file.
